Coming Clean
by can't.save.this.sinking.ship
Summary: COMPLETE. Harry and Draco's purely sexual relationship is unexpectedly brought into public light at Hogwarts, setting forth a series of consequences that neither of them could have ever predicted. Harry/Draco, Blaise/Seamus, slash, angst
1. Prologue

**AN:** Welp, I'm starting up a new multi-chaptered fic (which means brace yourselves, folks. xD) It's Harry/Draco, my favorite, and I hope that I can do the amazing couple justice. I hope that all of you enjoy this new idea and give lots of feedback (pwease? :D) much love and enjoy!

**Pairings:** Harry/Draco, eventual Blaise/Seamus

**Warnings:** cursing

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, not little 'ol me. :(

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It was in the middle of breakfast when an unnatural hush suddenly came over the Great Hall.

It lasted for only a few seconds; someone gasped, and then there was a huge swell of noise– frantic, gossipy whispers, crows of disbelief, shouts of anger– it was a maelstrom of sound coming from all sides and all angles.

"Is it true?"

"Do you really think...?"

"_Them_? Not a chance!"

"It's got to be a trick of magic!"

And then Harry Potter strolled into the Hall, and everything once again went utterly still.

"Harry, tell me it's not true," Ron's wan, shaky voice finally spoke up from the hordes of angry Gryffindor faces.

"Er, w-what?" Harry asked intelligently, feeling distinctly uncomfortable at the sensation of a thousand pairs of eyes focused on him.

Ron got up and stormed over to Harry, then threw a crumpled up newspaper at his chest. It hit hollowly, then dropped to the ground; it was so quiet in the Hall that everyone could hear the scratch of paper against marble.

Harry swallowed thickly, heart pounding in his throat, and leaned down to pick it up; what he saw made his heart stop altogether.

Plastered on the front page was a moving picture of he and Draco Malfoy, shirtless, writhing in bed and making out for all they were worth.

Harry felt his stomach drop to his knees.

"Oh,_ shit_."

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**AN:** Well said, Harry. haha let me know what you think! Chapter 1 is already in the works--keep a look out, I update quick!

-CSTSS


	2. Aftermaths

**AN**: Hey guys, sorry this is later than anticipated-- I'm currently on a field trip n things have been SUPER busy, so this is the first chance I've had to post something. Anyway, hope ya like the new chappy-- if ya do, let me know; if ya don't, I'd love to know what I can work on! Much love 3

**Warnings:** cursing, heavy kissing

**Pairing:** Harry/Draco, eventual Blaise/Seamus (just believe me. I know it doesn't make sense now, but it will. :D)

**Disclaimer:** Not mine

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"Did you _see_ this, Potter?" Draco raged, pacing back and forth with the infamous newspaper brandished high in his hand like a weapon.

"Of course I saw it, moron," Harry retorted, voice muffled from behind his hands, which were pressed over his face in a gesture of complete and utter hopelessness. "Who hasn't?"

"How did this _happen_?" the irate blonde demanded angrily. He was silent for barely a second before suddenly turning on Harry and pointing the rolled up paper at him menacingly. "I bet _you_ had something to do with it!" he declared. "Some grandiose Gryffindor notion of true love prevailing over prejudice or some crock of shit like that, I'm sure!"

"Malfoy, honestly," Harry sighed, rubbing his pounding temples. "Do you _really _think I'd want to risk losing my friends and family for _you_?"

"You don't have any family to lose, Potter," Draco snapped automatically, regretting the words as soon as they left his mouth.

"Shut the fuck up, Malfoy," Harry growled, getting to his feet. "I have friends that are much more of a family than you could ever imagine, what with your fucked up parents and poor excuses for companions."

Regret was overrated.

Draco shoved Harry, hard, nostrils flaring in anger. "Don't you_ dare_ insult my parents, Potter," he spat. "And I have plenty of worthwhile friends– much more valuable than that little pet-on-a-leash Weasel and that infuriating Mudblood–

Harry slammed him against the nearest wall, eyes glittering in anger from behind his fall of black hair. "_Don't_ say that," he warned, voice was dangerously low.

"And just what're you gonna do about it?" Draco drawled breathily, feeling like the temperature to the room had risen to an unbearable height as their bodies pressed together. "Punish me, Potter?"

"If I have to," Harry murmured, eyes trained on the blonde's lips.

Draco licked the soft appendages, pink tongue slipping out to drag along the smooth skin, making it shine. He leaned forward just a mere _centimeter_, so that their lips were almost touching, and whispered, "I wouldn't mind, you know."

And then there was heat exploding deep in Harry's gut and he grabbed Draco by the back of the neck to crush their lips together in a wet, heady kiss.

"Fuck, Malfoy, you're so–" Harry began, tearing at Draco's shirt.

"Hot, I know," Draco finished, gasping when Harry began sucking at his neck. "A-ah, feels good, Potter..."

"Couch, now," Harry demanded, tugging at his pants.

"What, you don't want to fuck me right here, up against the wall?" Draco purred, looking out at the other boy from under his lashes.

Harry's green eyes darkened imperceptibly, and then Draco found himself slammed against the wall once again, this time with a warm mouth attached to his own.

"Mmf–easy, Potter–mnn– I'm not edible," Draco managed to get out through the lips roughly ravaging his mouth.

"You looked that way to me," Harry growled, before grabbing Draco's thighs and hoisting the other boy up so that his legs were wrapped around his waist and their groins were pressed firmly together.

"Merlin, you certainly get right to the point," Draco said breathlessly, weaving his arms around the other's neck and holding on tight.

"Would you rather me wait?" Harry breathed, going completely still and pulling his mouth far away from the other boy's.

Draco slipped a hand into the brown hair and forcefully pulled the other boy back to his lips. "Not on your life, Potter," he whispered, before crushing their mouths together once again.

COMINGCLEAN

"I can't believe this," Ron muttered, staring helplessly at the horrifying picture for the thousandth time that day.

Hermione sighed and plucked the thing from his grasp, crumpling it up and tossing it on the table in the middle of the common room. "Why don't you do your homework or something for a little while?" she suggested tiredly. "You really need to stop thinking about it."

"How can I stop _thinking_ about it, Hermione?" Ron roared, pulling at his hair in frustration. "My best mate could be _gay_!"

"Could be?" Seamus snorted from across the room. "Looks pretty gay to me, mate."

"And just what would be the problem with that?" Hermione demanded, putting her hands on her hips angrily.

"Err, 'Mione," Ron said, placatingly. "Maybe you're not aware of this, but being a fag is _disgusting_, yeah? It's just plain _wrong_!"

"Ronald Weasley I never thought you would be such a bigot!" Hermione exclaimed, eyes bright and upset. "He's your best friend! And even if he weren't, there's nothing wrong with being g-gay."

"You can barely say it, can you?" Seamus sneered. "You pretend to be so high and mighty like you don't care, but it bothers you, doesn't it?"

Hermione frowned, eyebrows furrowing. "Alright, so I'm not exactly comfortable with it," she hedged, shrugging her shoulders stiffly. "But I don't have a _problem _with it! I don't think it's disgusting, or wrong. I'd just... rather not see it."

"Oh, and that's so many moral steps higher than us ignorant bigots," Seamus scoffed.

"Oh, butt out, Finnigan!" the irate brunette finally exclaimed. "I was talking to _Ron, _not _you._"

The Irish boy put up his hands in surrender. "I was just saying," he defended.

"He's right though, 'Mione," Ron said reluctantly. "It's obvious you don't like it either, even if you're not quite as...blunt about it. And if even _you _are bothered by it, than there's not a person in this school whose _okay_ with it. That just proves how wrong it is."

"That's probably why they kept it a secret," she murmured, a little sadly. "Afraid of the reaction."

"Well they should've thought about that before they..." Ron trailed off, looking vaguely sick. He shuddered and started to continue, "They should've known–

– and then Harry walked in.

"U-um, hey, guys," he greeted, waving his hand awkwardly. "How's it going?"

"Peachy," Ron grumbled.

"Fine," Seamus said in a clipped tone, then muttered in a low voice, "Faggot."

"What did you say to me?" Harry asked lowly, anger surging in his tone.

"I said, _faggot_," Seamus said louder, eyes raising challengingly to the other boy's. "What're you gonna do about it, pansy boy?"

Harry nearly growled and took a step forward, but then Ron was there, pushing him back.

"Don't, Harry, it's not worth it," he said tiredly.

Harry grit his teeth and yanked himself away from his friend. "Whatever," he seethed. "But if he makes one more comment..."

"Look, mate, we're all just a little surprised!" Ron exclaimed, exasperated. "You can't just expect us to suddenly accept the fact that you're _g-gay-_and–

"I'm not gay!" Harry cried, throwing his hands up in frustration.

"Oh, yeah?" Seamus snorted, reaching out to pick up the crumpled newspaper. "What's this, then?"

Harry felt his cheeks heat, both in anger and embarrassment. "That's..."

"You about to fuck Malfoy, is what it looks like," Cormac McLaggen said disgustedly as he strolled into the common room.

"Boys, stop!" Hermione admonished, seeing Harry beginning to look overwhelmed. "He's probably had a hard enough day as it is. He doesn't need his own _house _turning against him!"

"Well what did you expect, mate?" Ron asked Harry, voice sounding vaguely pained.

"I don't know," Harry admitted, rubbing his hand down his face tiredly.

There was a long, poignant moment of silence.

"Harry, please, just...just give me _one _good reason why I should be okay with _this_," Ron said softly, holding up the infamous picture once more. "You sleeping with the enemy. With a _boy._"

Harry swallowed thickly, trying to think of something to say. What _could_ he say, really? To justify this? To make it all okay again? He certainly couldn't say that it was all true– that he'd been sleeping with Draco Malfoy and had _liked _it– but he wasn't a _liar _either_._

He bit his lip, and finally made a decision. "Ron..." he began, slowly, purposefully. "Haven't you ever heard of the saying, 'Keep your friends close, your enemies closer'?"

There was a heavy pause, and then Cormac and Seamus burst into laughter.

"You really expect us to believe _that_?" Seamus gasped, thoroughly amused.

"Yeah, if that load of shit's true, you must be a _fantastic_ actor, mate," Cormac snickered, proceeding to imitate Harry sliding his hands up and down Draco's bare chest and kissing him.

Harry, unbelievably, kept his cool, even as his other house-mates gathered around to watch the entertaining display.

"I could force myself to do anything if it meant getting one step closer to defeating Voldemort," he said quietly.

A sudden hush fell over the room, and all eyes that weren't already on Harry swivelled to focus upon him, some irises showing the first signs of guilt.

"And if I have to sleep with the enemy in order to get information that could help save the wizarding world," Harry continued, still in that same calm, calculated tone. "Then I will."

There was a thick, heavy silence.

"Harry, mate," Ron whispered regretfully. "I..."

Seamus looked vaguely bashful. "We were only joking, Harry... just having a bit of fun, you know..."

It was only Cormac that still looked suspicious. "Couldn't you have found someone else in Slytherin to sleep with on this grand quest for information?" he asked dubiously. "There _are _girl Death-Eaters-To-Be, you know."

Harry shrugged, the perfect picture of nonchalance. "We all know that Malfoy's the top of the ladder. He knows anything and everything there is to know about the innerworkings of Slytherin, and he's also privy to information on Death Eater activity. After all, his father is one of Voldemort's most prized followers, and the two have a very close relationship– sleeping with him is practically a one-way ticket to getting closer to defeating Voldemort."

Even though Harry knew it was complete and utter bullshit– Draco had refused to speak about his father, Voldemort, or any Slytherin politics when they were together– his housemates seemed to be eating up his story. Harry figured it was because they were all so desperate to believe it was true that they weren't looking at any of the many obvious loopholes. It looked like his plan was working, but he couldn't bring himself to feel happy about it– he was too busy struggling to quell the nausea churning in his stomach at the act of lying so blatantly to his friends.

"So... you're not gay, then?" Ron finally asked in a small, hopeful voice.

"Of course not," Harry said, chuckling a bit stiffly, managing to succeed in breaking the tension in the room. "I want to date your sister, remember?"

"Well, yeah, I know," Ron said, sounding a little surer now. "That's why I was so floored by this damn picture!"

"You've got nothing to worry about, mate," Harry reassured, moving to take a seat beside the redhead and clapping him on the shoulder. "I'm straight as an arrow."

All the tension seemed to drain out of everyone in the room. Someone walked by Harry and patted him on the shoulder; he looked up to see Dean smiling down at him. "I knew it wasn't what it looked like, Harry," he said warmly.

"Yeah, none of us _really _thought you'd do something like that," Seamus said weakly.

Harry raised an eyebrow at him, but didn't make a move to call his bluff. Everyone slowly began to talk again, chatting about various things– Quidditch, girls, an extremely long Transfigurations assignment– the thought of Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy sleeping together was all but gone from their minds.

Hermione was the only one not talking; she stood in the corner of the common room, staring at Harry with a perplexed look on her face.

Something definitely wasn't right about this story; she just _knew_ it.

COMINGCLEAN

"Shove off, Flint," Draco growled, attempting to push past the larger boy as he stormed into the common room.

"Not so fast, faggot," Marcus said loudly, grabbing him by the arm and wrenching him backwards. "We don't allow your _kind _in here."

"Fuck you," Draco spat. "This is my common room as much as it is yours!"

"Not. Any. More," Marcus whispered menacingly, lips twitching in an ugly scowl. "Traitors that fuck around with the enemy aren't welcome here."

Draco yanked at his trapped arm and turned to the others in the room for support. "Guys, tell this stupid oaf to get his hands off me!" he demanded huffily.

Before he could even blink, a fist hurtled into his face, sending him reeling; he hit the floor with a dull thud and groaned, pain roaring through his cheek like a tidal wave.

Then Marcus drew back and spit; the saliva sprayed all over the other boy's prone form. "You're nothing now, Malfoy," he loudly declared. "You're less than dirt, as far as Slytherin is concerned."

He straightened, chest puffing out proudly, and looked out at the vaguely shocked, mostly impressed expressions of his housemates. "Anyone want to object?" he asked challengingly.

Everyone hurriedly shook their heads, and Flint nodded approvingly. "Good." They began to talk again, incident gone from their mind, completely ignoring Draco– who was still strewn on the floor, groaning weakly.

Marcus took the chance to lean in close– Draco could feel his rancid breath fan out across his rapidly bruising face– and whisper gloatingly, "Oh, how the mighty have fallen"

Even through the burning pain and the puffy swelling of his eye, Draco managed to give the other boy a vicious glare and a spiteful, "Don't get used to it, Flint."

Marcus smirked, and it was a hateful, ugly thing. "You've lost, Malfoy," he said viciously, smugness dripping from his voice. "Now get out of here before I feel the urge to rough up that fairy face of yours even more."

With that, he stepped past him, kicking his side roughly in the process, dismissing Draco as easily as a fly. He walked into the circle of who were now _his _followers, and began to bask in the glory of his newfound leadership.

Draco had never felt more humiliated or angry in his life as he slowly, painfully got to his feet, hands pressed to his throbbing face, in front of his entire house– who weren't even deigning him a glance.

He'd lost his place. He'd lost his respect. He'd been forgotten.

His father would be so disappointed in him.

He bit his lip, then resolutely turned on his heel and walked out of the common room with as much dignity as he could muster, back rigid with tension and steps short and clipped.

When he got outside, he slumped, exhausted, against the chamber wall, feeling like his world had just come crashing down around him.

He was _fucked. _What would his father say, when he saw the paper? What was going to happen to him?

Where the hell was he going to _sleep _for the rest of the year?

He sighed and went to run a hand over his face, then hissed as he came in contact with his tender, bruised cheek.

"Shit that hurts," he muttered, wincing. What he really wanted to do was go straight to Madame Pomfrey and get it healed, but he knew that the act would only say one thing to his house-mates– that he was just as much of a pansy as they thought.

No, he would wear the embarrassing reminder of his actions with typical Malfoy poise and dignity; he would show them that he could care less about Flint's declaration of leadership and his oaf-like methods of making a point. He took a deep, determined breath, and turned on his heel to walk down the hall–

–and slammed straight into Harry Potter.

"Watch where you're going!" he snarled, moving to push past him.

"_You _ran into _me_, Malfoy!" Harry exclaimed, yanking the other boy back so that he could yell at him properly– and that's when he caught sight of his face. "Jesus, Malfoy, what the hell happened to you?" he asked, reaching out instinctively to touch the swollen, black and blue bruise spreading over the right side of his face.

Draco flinched away from him and growled through gritted teeth, "What the hell do you think, Potter? Don't tell me you expected Slytherin to be all rainbows and butterflies when they found out one of their own was a traitor?"

Harry gulped, feeling a little guilty, though he didn't know why; he hadn't forced Malfoy into anything, and he certainly hadn't wanted anyone to find out about their little secret. "Well, you should get that looked at," he said finally. "It doesn't look so good."

Draco tossed his hair pretentiously. "I don't need that incompetent nurse's help. I'll be fine on my own."

"You don't want people to know that you went running to off to get healed after being hit," Harry deadpanned. "Very noble, Malfoy."

"Shut _up_, Potter!" Draco yelled, yanking himself out of the other boy's grip. "You don't know anything! You have _no idea _how Slytherin operates! It's a _respect _thing."

Harry gestured his battered face, eyebrows raising in pointed curiosity. "_This _was an act of respect?"

Draco merely snarled at him and began stalking off in the other direction, grumbling angrily under his breath.

"Malfoy," Harry called, turning around to watch the other's rigid back.

Draco stopped; took a thin, shaky breath. "What?" he asked, and this time his voice wasn't angry– but exhausted.

"Room of Requirement, at the usual time?" Harry asked, so softly that it was barely audible– but he knew Draco had heard by the slight stiffening of his shoulders.

Finally, after a long moment of silence, Draco exhaled. "Yeah, Potter," he sighed. "Don't be late."

Harry _really _didn't like how relieved he felt at the acquiescence; he'd kind of hoped, now that the shit had hit the fan, he'd somehow be able to quit this disturbing addiction to having sex with his biggest enemy– but he found himself more attracted to the blonde than ever.

It was infuriating.

"I won't, Malfoy," he promised, and it rang hollow in the now empty hallway.

COMINGCLEAN

The rest of the day passed in a blur for Harry. Word had gotten around about his supposed motives for sleeping with Malfoy, and most of the school seemed willing to accept it– in fact, the majority of them were acting as if it had never even happened in the first place. Everyone was talking to him, smiling at him, laughing with him; he almost felt like they were _more _interactive than they usually were– it was as if there was a certain amount of...heightened respect for him, like his supposedly forcing himself to sleep with Malfoy for the sake of the greater good was a larger, more admirable feat than any other he'd accomplished up to that point. It was...sad, really. That they thought it would be more difficult to sleep with the same gender than to watch your friends and family die, or to face Lord Voldemort.

They really _were_ utterly clueless.

"Harry? Are you alright?" Hermione asked, knocking him out of his reverie. "You zoned out for a minute there."

"W-what? Yeah, I'm fine," Harry said flippantly, straightening his Potions books on his desk. "Just thinking."

"About?" the brunette prompted, eyeing him speculatively.

"What is this, an investigation?" Harry joked, a bit uncomfortably. He couldn't very well tell her that he'd actually been thinking about, now could he? "It's really nothing, Hermione," he insisted.

"Harry, honestly, I can see that– oh my God," she gasped, raising a hand to her mouth and pointing at the door, where Draco had just entered.

He'd obviously gotten roughed up again– his robes were askew, as if vicious hands had just yanked him up by them; and now in addition to his swollen black eye, his nose was dripping blood.

"Merlin," Hermione breathed. "Who did that to him?"

Harry's eyes darkened in an unbidden surge of protective anger. "I don't know," was all he said.

"Look at Malfoy," Ron sniggered, glaring hatefully at the blonde as he walked to a lone seat in the back of the Slytherin side of the Potions classroom. He leaned over to Harry and whispered, "Guess Slytherin didn't much like their beloved leader thinking he'd found true love with the Boy-Who-Lived, eh? So much for house loyalty."

"Heh, yeah," Harry said stiffly. _Love? Since when had _that _come into the equation?_

"Hey, Malfoy!" Seamus called out, eyes glittering in amusement. "You look pretty banged up over there. I bet you'd _loooove_ Harry to kiss it better for you!" he cooed.

The class laughed, and Draco scowled.

"He'd probably be convinced Harry would enjoy doing it, too," Dean chimed in from next to his Irish friend, smiling smugly. Ordinarily, he wasn't interested in teasing others; but in this case– it was Draco Malfoy, and he definitely wanted to take part in making him feel as low as he'd made others feel throughout his stay at Hogwarts.

"Yeah, too bad Harry was only using you for information, ferret-face!" Ron said, roaring with laughter.

The class joined in, a whirling tornado of hate and sick amusement, all directed at the battered blonde sitting alone in the back of the classroom.

Harry swallowed bile; he felt nausea churning in his stomach as he watched it all unfold. It was _he _whohad _lied. _Instead of owning up to the fact that yes, he was fucking Draco Malfoy, and yes, he was certainly enjoying it, he'd taken the coward's way out– he'd lied; made up some stupid story that all of his oblivious friends had immediately believed without a second thought– and now Draco was paying the price, while he'd gotten off scot-free.

"Silence!" Snape bellowed, interrupting Harry's thoughts, as well as the rest of the class's fun. "Could someone _please _tell me why you all felt the pressing need to make such a ruckus while your teacher was out of the classroom?" he asked angrily, pacing the room like a hunting predator. "Potter, how about you? Could you tell me?"

"Er, I-I wasn't talking, sir," he said weakly.

"That wasn't my question, now was it?" Snape pointed out condescendingly. "I'd like to know why I heard enough noise from this classroom that I could hear it from all the way down the corridor, not whether or not you're innocent of the deed, Mr. Potter!"

Harry shrugged uncomfortably, mind still distracted with thoughts of Draco and his own corrupt decisions of the past morning. "Just got carried away, I guess," he mumbled.

Snape turned his nose up at the infuriating boy, dismissing him, and turned to his favorite student, suppressing an intake of air at the blonde's bruised face. "Draco," he said kindly. "Surely you could give me a more coherent answer as to what topic of conversation was such a source of controversy that it called for such raucous behavior?"

Everyone's eyes swivelled to Malfoy; each gaze held a certain level of warning– clearly saying, 'you tell, and you'll pay.' It was obvious that everyone was relishing in Draco's sudden powerlessness; they knew they could now get away with messing him about, and they were feasting upon the unexpected opportunity at getting revenge on the boy who'd made their lives hell for so long.

Draco took a breath– it _wasn't_ shaky, he tried to convince himself– and said coolly, "I have no idea, Professor. You know I don't like to participate in conversations so abundant in idiocy."

"Funny how you can still act so high and mighty when everyone knows and hates you for being a faggot," Marcus muttered, prompting the class to snicker.

"Flint, you will not make any further comments without my permission or I will have you expelled," Snape said in a clipped tone. "I will not tolerate such immaturity in my classroom, is that understood?"

"Yes, sir," Marcus grumbled, tossing Draco a heated glare. "Sorry, Professor."

"Good," Snape said briskly. "10 points from Slytherin."

The left side of the room sighed, while the Gryffindor side was all smiles.

Ron grinned from beside Harry and nudged his shoulder happily. "This is great stuff, i'nit, mate?" he said, eyes crinkling in delight.

Harry barely held back a shudder as his eyes suddenly locked on Draco's lifeless grey ones. "Err, sure," he stammered to Ron, not really sure what he was answering to and frankly not caring.

After a moment, Ron seemed to notice Harry's staring. "Don't _tell_ me you feel bad for the git," Ron said, voice full of disbelief.

"W-what? No, of course not," Harry scoffed, forcefully tearing his eyes away from Draco's. "I was just, er... admiring whoever gave him that shiner. It's pretty impressive, don't you think?"

"Definitely," Ron agreed, grinning again. "Although, I think I could definitely give him a–

"Mr. Weasley," Snape said loudly.

"E-er, what?" Ron intelligently responded, coloring to his ears at being caught.

"5 points from Gryffindor for not paying attention," Snape drawled. "Do refrain from having your useless conversations with Potter from this day forward, Mr. Weasley. Now, could you tell me which ingredient in the potion detracts from the efficiency of the..."

And Harry tuned out the rest of his words, retreating back into his head for the remainder of the class, trying and failing to block out the image of those haunting grey eyes.

Did it really _bother _him that Malfoy was finally getting what had been coming to him for years? So what if that bruise looked incredibly painful; so what if those troubled eyes looked as if their owner had just lost _everything_; so what if that fact made Harry's heart give a little pang in his chest...

"Fuck," Harry muttered, putting his hands over his head as if that could possibly block out the infuriating whirlwind of thoughts.

"Harry, are you okay?" Hermione whispered, urgently, eyes bright with concern as they peered out from under her bushy bangs.

Harry gulped; if Hermione was risking being caught interrupting class to check on him, than he must've been looking pretty pathetic. He'd have to start being more careful about sorting through his issues; after all, he did have the smartest, most intuitive student at Hogwarts as his best friend and resident mother-hen. "Yeah, 'Mione," he finally replied, giving her an easy, reassuring grin. "I'm just tired."

"Well, if you say so," she said doubtfully, frowning at him for a moment before turning her head to face the front again. After a minute, she surreptitiously glanced back over at Harry's face and saw his eyes shoot over towards Malfoy once again; she shifted her gaze over to the blonde, and was astonished to see a glimmer of sadness and genuine pain in the normally proud, haughty eyes as they met Harry's.

Oh, yes. There was _definitely _something more to this story.


	3. Feelings

**AN:** Alright, guys! Here's another chapter. Updates might be coming a little slower in the next few weeks because I've got exams-- so please don't throw rocks at me, I'll post as quick as I can! xD Thanks for everyone's reviews n I hope ya like this chappy!

**Pairing:** Harry/Draco, eventual Blaise/Seamus

**Warnings:** violence, kissing, sexual situations (not explicit), cursing

**Disclaimer:** Not mine

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"Don't touch me, Potter," Draco snarled, flinching away from Harry's touch as the boy attempted to reach out to him.

"Malfoy," Harry sighed, watching the blonde sink down on one of the couches and cradle his sore face in his hands. "Look, I..." He had no idea what to say; where to even begin. _Sorry you got your face beaten in by your supposed friends, Malfoy. Want to fuck now? _He shook his head, shuffled his feet awkwardly, feeling distinctly uncomfortable as silence descended upon their simple version of the Room of Requirement.

"So, er," he finally tried. "How's your face?"

Draco looked up at him, expression clearly not impressed; even through the bruises and swelling, Harry could sense his disdain. "That's the best conversation starter you could come up with, Potter?" he asked derisively.

Harry shrugged, trying to ignore the anger curling up in his gut– it wouldn't do any good to get in a fight with Draco when he was already not in the best of states. "It was just a question, Malfoy," he snapped coolly. "You don't have to be such a prat about everything."

And then Draco did something unexpected. He exhaled, heavily, put his face back in his palms, and mumbled, "Sorry, Potter. It hasn't been the greatest day."

Harry snorted to hide his surprise, and stepped closer so that he could take a seat next to the tired blonde. "Yeah, I know what you mean," he said ruefully.

Draco's face snapped up, and this time his expression was furious. "You have _no idea _what I mean, you fucking prat!" he exclaimed, leaping to his feet and beginning to pace.

Utterly bewildered, Harry started, "Malfoy, wha–

"You think you're real clever, don't you, Potter?" Draco growled, turning on him with eyes glittering in anger. "You're the Boy-Who-Lived, the Boy-Who-Can-Do-No-Wrong, so you thought, 'Hey, why not turn this around on the Death-Eater-To-Be?! No one will believe _him_! No one will realize that it takes _two people _to have sex, and that maybe, just _maybe_, the Golden Boy actually _likes_ to shove his cock up another boy's arse!'"

He stopped, breathing hard, so enraged he could barely see straight. "I mean, _Merlin_, Potter," he continued heatedly. "I thought you were supposed to be _brave_. Honorable." He shook his head resentfully and walked up close to Harry so that he could sneer in his face. "It turns out," he began again, voice dripping with disgust. "That you're just a _coward_. I pity those who are depending upon _you_ to 'save the wizarding world.'"

And with that, Draco stormed out of the room, leaving a thick, permeating silence.

Harry blinked, utterly stunned; inexplicably, he felt his throat begin to close.

_He's right, _he eventually admitted to himself. _I took the coward's way out. I was too scared of what other people would think to admit to the fact that I... that I'm attracted to Draco Malfoy– the enemy. A boy. _

He bit his lip and pulled at his tangled hair, feeling terribly guilty and ashamed.

_What the hell else was I supposed to do? _he thought desperately. _Lose everyone that I love for _his _sake? _

_No, _a small voice in his head spoke up. _You were supposed to be honest. Your true friends would have stuck by you._

His stomach dropped to his feet.

"If only it were that simple," he finally whispered.

COMINGCLEAN

"Psst, Draco."

The junior Malfoy stopped and glanced warily about himself. "Who's there?" he asked, easily feigning calm.

"Shh! Over here!"

He looked in the direction of the voice and saw a hand waving at him from behind a large statue on the side of the corridor. He sighed and walked over to it, slipping deftly and silently behind it's bulky exterior only to find himself face to face with Pansy Parkinson.

"What the hell do you want?" he asked, eyes narrowing in anger.

"To speak with you, darling," she said, demeanor bright with false concern. "I wanted to make sure you were alright after that lumbering oaf hit you." She reached out to fuss over the swelling knot and Draco's fingers snapped up to her wrist, squeezing it tight in warning before dropping it.

"Don't pretend you care, Pansy," he growled. "You made your choice when you said nothing after Flint's little display today. I lost all respect and warmth I held towards you when you left me on the ground like some common house elf who'd just been punished."

"Draco, honestly, what did you expect me–

"It's Malfoy to you, now," he bit out. "You've lost the privilege to call me by my given name, Parkinson. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to get to my quarters to study."

He turned on his heel and made to stride away when Pansy spoke up, voice quiet and reluctant. "I wouldn't do that, Dra–Malfoy."

He stopped, didn't turn to face her. "Are you threatening me?" he asked lowly.

"No," she denied fervently, voice dropping to barely a whisper. "I'm just...warning you, pet. You heard Flint tell you not to come back. I'm sure they wouldn't take this disobedience lightly!"

Draco whirled around. "I am not an _animal_, Pansy," he whispered through gritted teeth. "I will do as I please without giving a second thought to that barbarian and his slobbering band of followers."

She bit her lip, wanting to say more; she'd heard what they were planning, and it was horrible– she certainly didn't want her dear friend to be subject to such needless violence, but it was either him or her own reputation. Choice made, she mumbled, "Alright. Do what you will," and vanished.

Draco frowned. "Strange," he muttered. Shrugging, he continued on his way down the corridor, exhausted and definitely ready for an early turn in. When he finally got to the common room and walked through, he was expecting a struggle– but it seemed as if Flint and his little following were off somewhere else– torturing first years, no doubt– and his other house-mates merely threw a few insults his way, otherwise remaining indifferent.

By the time he stepped into his room, he was feeling supremely triumphant– he was showing everyone that he wouldn't let anyone run his life for him– hell, Potter's fuckbuddy or no, he was still a Malfoy, and no one would ever be able to take that away from him.

He took in a deep, pleased breath, whistling absently as set his stuff down on his bed and stretched, then moved to lay down on the inviting mattress. As he crouched down and went to climb in, pain suddenly exploded in his temple and he dropped like a fly, the world going black around him.

COMINGCLEAN

"You're not telling me something, Harry," Hermione softly accused as they moved on to their Potions homework in the midst of their library study session.

"Huh?" Harry asked, playing dumb as he opened up his textbook. "What are you on about?"

Hermione frowned at him. "Harry, really, we've been friends for so long– do you honestly think I can't tell when something's off?"

"'Mione, I'm trying to study," Harry said uncomfortably; he'd never been good at avoiding his bushy-haired friend. "Can't we talk about this later?"

Hermione sighed and pouted. "Harry, come on–

"Shh!" Madam Pince's scandalized voice called out. "This is a library, Mr. Potter! Mr. Granger, I expect different from you!"

Hermione colored to her hair and said, "Sorry, Madam. It won't happen again."

Harry tried to hide his snickering, wincing when his friend turned to give him a glare and a swat on the arm.

"Jeez, it was your fault!" he whispered emphatically, rubbing at the spot.

"Quiet, Harry," she admonished, glancing warily about as if Madam Pince was hiding behind the nearest bookcase.

Harry merely shook his head in amusement and went back to his work, thinking ruefully, _I never thought I'd say this, but thank God for Madam Pince._

COMINGCLEAN

"Draco...wakey, wakey," Marcus said happily.

The blonde groaned a little, temples throbbing, and then, before he was even fully conscious, felt someone grab him by the hair and dunk his head into ice, _ice _cold water.

Draco sputtered, water shooting up his nose an down his throat, and struggled to get his weak limbs awake enough to fight against whoever was holding him down.

After what seemed like an eternity, he was finally yanked up by the roots of his soaking hair and allowed to breathe; at the opportunity he gasped desperately for air, heart roaring in his ears and water choking his throat.

"Good morning, Malfoy," Flint said sweetly, grinning at him from his spot across the full bath tub, where he was sitting on a small stool, watching his master plan enfold before him.

"What the fuck is this, Flint?" Draco demanded, voice ragged and choked.

Marcus shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back nonchalantly. "I told you I didn't want to see your face in here again," he explained, eyes glittering. "Did you think I'd just _let _you come back? Tsk, tsk, tsk, Draco," he admonished, giving the blonde a smug, condescending look. "I'm afraid it's not going to be quite that easy."

"You're on a power trip, you egotistical dumbass," Draco spit, snarling at the other boy. "Do you _really _think anyone actually gives a rat's arse about what you have to say? They're only following you because they think I betrayed them! You're _sloppy seconds_, Flint, so get off your fucking high horse!"

Marcus' gaze sparked with anger and shifted upwards to the boy still holding onto Draco's hair. "Go ahead, Crabbe," he bit out. "I don't think he's learned his lesson yet."

The blonde had barely a second to prepare before his face was slammed back into the water once again; the iciness felt like a thousand needles sinking into his skin, and the pain was so intense that he immediately let out the air he'd managed to suck in, leaving him breathless and panicked under the water.

He instinctively opened his eyes wide in fear, then felt the sting of water against his irises and quickly clenched them shut. When his chest gave a poignant throb, reminding him that he needed air, he automatically opened his mouth to breathe– at the flood of water that choked him, he felt a sudden surge of utter _panic_; he _couldn't _breathe_,_ he was trapped, he was going to drown! He began to struggle wildly, trying to bring his arms up, only to find that they'd been tied behind him– that option voided, he began twisting his upper body furiously, bucking his head upwards in a desperate attempt to dislodge the firm hands holding him down.

Oh, Merlin, his chest felt like it was caving in. It _hurt so badly_; his vision began to tunnel in, his head began to feel fuzzy, he was going to die–

– and then he was brought up, and he immediately began to cough, choke and, unexpectedly, _sob. _

"Aww, look, we made him cry," Marcus cooed, smiling viciously. "Maybe that'll teach you not to open that big mouth, fairy boy."

Draco tried to get a hold of himself, but something about being forcefully drowned was doing odd things to his emotions. "Fuck you, Flint," he managed to gasp through the tears and the water fighting it's way out of his lungs.

"Tsk, tsk Draco," Marcus said again, before he nodded ruefully at Crabbe.

This time, Draco wasn't even remotely prepared; his first thought was _They wouldn't do it again, not so soon– I still can't breathe from the last one! _And then his mouth filled with water and reality hit him like a ton of bricks.

They were merciless, and there was no way out of this. They'd no doubt put a silencing spell on the room, his hands were tied behind his back, he had one of the largest students in Hogwarts holding him down– they were going to _kill_ him...

...or at least make him wish he were dead.

COMINGCLEAN

"I'm beat," Harry sighed, pushing away from the cursed study supplies and glancing over at his friend, who was still furiously writing in her notebook. "You ready to go yet, Herm?"

"Five more minutes," she said distractedly, biting her lip.

"Right," Harry snorted. He got to his feet and gathered his books. "In Hermione speak, that's another hour, so I'm gonna head to bed. See you tomorrow."

"Yeah, okay," she mumbled. "Night."

Harry smiled ruefully and made his way out of the library, shivering when the cool air of Hogwarts halls hit his body– where had his jacket gone? He could have sworn he'd had one on this morning...

Oh. Draco. Harry must've left it in the Room of Requirement after their reunion earlier that day.

Sighing, he figured he might has well stop by, considering the fact that it was his favorite jacket and he wouldn't put it past Malfoy to have stolen it or something. He walked tiredly to the now familiar hallway and began to walk back and forth in front of the wall, thinkingof the place he and Draco had created for themselves since they'd began their little affair at the beginning of that year, and opened his eyes after a moment to see the wooden doors appear. He quickly wrenched them open and walked inside, eyes roving around for blue cloth.

His eyes immediately found his jacket, but it wasn't by itself– it was wrapped tightly around the convulsing figure of one Draco Malfoy.

"D-Draco?" he gasped, the junior Malfoy's first name rolling off his tongue before he could even think about it. "What the _hell_?"

The blonde was sitting on the couch, completely soaked, and shivering so horribly that his teeth could be heard chattering from a mile away. The sight of him burrowing into and clutching at the soft fabric of _Harry's _jacket made the brunette's stomach do an odd little flip, which he resolutely ignored.

The blonde head snapped up, sending sprays of water into the air, and Harry couldn't help his sharp intake of air– the silver eyes looked..._terrified._

"What's _happened _to you?" Harry asked, utterly flabbergasted.

Draco opened his mouth to answer, but instead was seized by an intense fit of coughs, body bending double and water spewing out of his nose and throat.

"Merlin," Harry breathed, legs automatically rushing him to the other boy so he could bang a fist on his back.

Draco flinched violently and took a heaving gasp of air, preparing to be thrown back underwater again, and Harry threw his hands up in innocence, saying frantically, "Relax! I'm not going to hurt you!"

Draco sucked in air and turned away from him, trying desperately to compose himself– this was _humiliating, _and he'd already had enough embarrassment for one night, thank you very much. "Leave me alone, Potter," he spit hatefully. "You're the _last_ person I want to see right now."

"I'm not leaving until you tell me what happened," Harry said stubbornly, crossing his arms defiantly over his chest. "And don't you blame me for any of this," he added resentfully. "_I _didn't take that picture that caused your 'mates' to get all riled up, Malfoy. I wanted this to be kept a secret just as much as you did."

"Just–just shut up, Potter!" Draco exclaimed, whirling around to glare at him. "Can't you see I don't _want_ you here!?"

"Can't you see I don't _care_?" Harry asked bluntly. He sighed, softening his voice a little. "I just want to know what happened, Malfoy. You're a wreck– you look right awful."

"Why thanks, sweetie," Draco said sarcastically, breathing finally beginning to slow to normal. "That's exactly what I needed to hear."

"Come off it," Harry scoffed. "You look like a drowned rat and I'm sure you're aware of it."

Draco shuddered, but not from being offended; the word drowned had hit him in a strange way. "I-I look better than you still, Potter," he struggled.

Harry's eyes narrowed knowingly. He pursed his lips, then asked quietly, "It was Flint, wasn't it? Him and his little goonies did something to you, didn't they?"

Draco suddenly got to his feet, anger surging through his veins, and exploded, "Look, it's none of your fucking business, Potter! Just leave me–

But the sudden action was too much too soon for his oxygen-deprived brain; his vision abruptly went black and he was barely aware of his knees buckling underneath him– he was falling! and then Harry's arms were around him, catching him; he fell into the brunette's chest, breathing hard, clutching at the other's shirt as he fought to regain equilibrium.

"It _is_ my fucking business," Harry whispered fiercely into his hair, arms instinctively tightening around the thin waist they were wrapped around. "Because I refuse to sit by and watch you be bullied around. Whoever did this needs to be punished_._"

"You didn't seem to care about the consequences for me when you told your friends all of that bullshit about sleeping with me for information," Draco muttered into one broad shoulder.

Harry sighed heavily and gently pushed him away. "Look, I know it was messed up, to lie like that. But I couldn't lose everyone I love, Dra–Malfoy. If they'd found out that I–that I–

"– bat for the other team?" Draco finished for him.

"No," Harry vehemently refused, coloring a little. "I'm not gay, Malfoy. I just..."

"Don't mind looking at my arse?" Draco filled in, raising an eyebrow wryly. "Or touching it, or kissing–

"Whatever, Malfoy, you're avoiding the question," Harry cut him off, exasperated and embarrassed. "Just tell me what happened," he said firmly. "Tell me who did it."

"It's–it's really not that big of a deal," Draco said uncomfortably, shifting under the surprisingly penetrating gaze.

"Oh, please, Malfoy," Harry scoffed, frustration building. "You love to whine about what happens to you. Quit playing this don't-pity-me act; I can see right through it."

Draco scowled and shoved him away, angry once again. "That's fucking _rich_, coming from _you,_" he said derisively."I don't think I've ever _heard_ someone complain so much! 'Oh, my parents are dead! Oh, Cedric! Woe is–

Harry punched him before he could even think about it, rage like no one but Draco could trigger jolting his heart and sending his fist careening into the white skin of the blonde's face. Draco went down like a ragdoll, hitting the floor with a thud and a loud cry of pain. "Ow, _fuck, _Potter, what the hell was that for?" he groaned, clutching his cheek.

"You know what it was for, you bloody git," Harry snapped, not regretting his actions for even a moment. "Don't say shit like that if you don't want to face the consequences."

"You didn't have to _hit _me, you barbarian!" Draco huffed, fingers ruefully probing the now tender spot.

There was a long moment of silence, during which Harry couldn't help but stare at the other's face, at the swelling and the many bruises from the days events– his being the newest addition. At the sight of the marred skin, the brunette _did_ begin to feel a _little _sheepish. Sure, the git had deserved it, but Harry wasn't the kind of person who resorted to such violence.

"Sorry, Malfoy," he muttered. "I shouldn't have hit you."

When Draco didn't respond, he sighed and approached the blonde, offering his hand begrudgingly to the other boy.

Draco scowled and didn't take it, still busy touching his swollen face. Eventually, though, the creases melted out of his expression and he dropped his hands, folding them into his lap and staring blankly ahead for a quiet moment. "It _was_ Flint," he finally murmured. "That did this, I mean. Him and Crabbe."

A little surprised at the sudden admission, Harry dropped his hand and only managed to respond, "O-oh?"

"Yeah," Draco said absently, face growing pensive. "They followed me into my room...knocked me out and dragged me to the bathroom. When I woke up... Crabbe grabbed me by the hair and slammed my head under the water." He ignored Harry's angry growl and continued, "I tried to get out, but... well, you've seen Crabbe. I didn't stand a chance." He paused, exhaling heavily, unsure why he was even telling Harry this. "My temper got the best of me and I wasn't exactly smart about my word choice when Crabbe finally allowed me to speak... F-Flint didn't appreciate it very much." He stopped, swallowing thickly, remembering the utter terror that had filled him as he was pushed under again, chest threatening to cave in from the pain of his lungs spasming desperately for air. "He told Crabbe to do it again," he began once again, voice faint. "And this time he...he held me there. For a long time."

There was a moment of silence.

"Holy shit," Harry finally breathed, entirely shocked. _How could a human being be so _cruel_?_

He sat down next to the other boy, close enough for their shoulders to touch. "Did–did they do it more than the two times?" he asked softly, subtle anger thrumming in his voice.

"I wasn't exactly counting, Potter," Draco muttered, frowning a little. "But, yes,... it went on for a while. They just kept...h-holding me down; keeping me there until I almost went unconscious, and then pulling me back up only to start it all over again seconds later." He looked down and tried to slow his breathing; he still felt the fear, rushing just underneath his skin. "They didn't stop until– u-until they'd felt I'd 'learned my lesson.'"

Harry bit his lip and had the abrupt, bizarre urge to just...wrap his arms around the blonde, feel the warmth of his body, give him the security it was obvious he needed at the moment. The feeling alarmed him, and he could only manage a stiff, "I'm sorry."

Draco turned his face so that he could stare at the brunette; Harry could see his eyes were rimmed in red, from previous tears, he supposed. "What for?" the blonde asked, tone slow and icy. "You don't care about me, remember? I'm just a rather attractive source of information, right?"

Harry was taken back for a moment, then he quickly recovered. "Don't you use that shit on me," he said darkly. "You never pretended to care about me either so don't sit here and act like the lovesick victim in all this."

Draco scowled. "I'm not," he said, sounding affronted at the mere assertion. "I could care less about your lack of feelings for me– hell, I certainly don't have any for you either. I just find it interesting, that you're apologizing for me getting hurt, when you've shown that you obviously don't care about what happens to me."

Something about the sentiment didn't sit right with Harry, but he didn't know why– it was all true. "You're right that I don't feel anything for you," he said absently.

"Other than lust," Draco said, with a wink.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Yes. Other than lust, I really don't feel anything but hatred for you, Malfoy– that never changed. But regardless, I'm not the kind of person who finds pleasure in seeing someone else in pain, no matter how much they may deserve it."

"I deserve to get beaten up because I like boys, Potter?" Draco asked, but he didn't sound angry– merely curious.

Harry colored a little. "No, Malfoy. I don't think people should get punished for something they can't help. Merlin knows I've tried to stop...feeling attracted to you, but it's not something I can change. Why should anyone get hurt for that?"

"Then why do I deserve this, if not for being gay?" the blonde asked, tilting his head to the side.

Harry gave him a look of disbelief. "Are you joking?" he asked incredulously. "Do you even _realize _how many people you've hurt during your years here? You've been a right git to everyone– you've had something like this coming for a _long_ time. You really don't think you deserve the _least _bit of punishment for all of the things you've done?"

"Mm," Draco hummed absently, turning his head so he could cough for a moment. "I suppose."

"You're unbelievable," Harry said, shaking his head. "You honestly don't feel regret? For _any_ of it?"

Draco shrugged, eyes going strangely blank. "I won't apologize for who I am, Potter. I've been raised to behave a certain way, and I don't plan on going back on my very elaborate and effective teachings."

"Elaborate? Effective?" Harry snorted, expression twisting in disgust. "You think I haven't seen the bruises, Malfoy? Your psychopath of a father–

He was cut off as Draco suddenly came hurtling towards him, making impact with his torso and sending them both careening to the ground. The back of Harry's head slammed into the ground, and he groaned as his vision swayed.

"Don't you say _shit _about my father, Potter," Draco spit, eyes wild and enraged. "He's a better man than you'll ever be."

Harry wanted to scream back at the other boy, but that's when he noticed that the hands holding his neck were _shaking_, and that the blonde on top of him looked deathly pale and vaguely nauseous. "Alright, Malfoy, I won't say anything else," he said disarmingly. "Just relax."

Draco breathed hard for a long moment, dizziness and lingering anger washing over him in waves. Then he bent his head and brought a hand up to clutch at his throbbing temples; Merlin, he felt so _sick. _

Harry very carefully sat up, maneuvering Draco so that he was resting against the back of the nearest couch. "Malfoy? Can you hear me?" he asked, slipping his fingers behind the other's neck and gently bringing his head forward so that he could peer into his listless eyes.

"Mm...w-what?" Draco stammered, blinking blearily.

Harry frowned and bit his lip in indecision. "I think you need to go to Madame Pomfrey," he finally said.

That seemed to wake the other boy up. "Not a chance, Potter!" he exclaimed, starting to get to his feet. Almost immediately, he fell back down, looking exhausted and frustrated. "Damnit," he cursed, rubbing his head ruefully. "What the hell is wrong with me?"

"I don't know," Harry said, honestly unsure of the medical ramifications of being forcefully held under water for so long. "But you definitely need some attention. Something could be really wrong."

"What do you care, Potter?" the blonde asked, just to say something in response.

Harry rolled his eyes and moved to help Draco to his feet, but the other boy vehemently pushed him away and stayed put. "I don't want to," he insisted, staring up pleadingly at Harry with his big silver eyes. "Please, Harry, don't make me."

His voice was merely a purr, and the brunette felt heat coil in his stomach at the sight and their position– him standing, with Draco on his knees in front of him, looking at him like _that_– he slowly kneeled, still not looking away, not surprised when Draco's lips found his own, soft and warm, still wet from water.

"I want you," the blonde murmured against Harry's mouth, hands rising to thread through the hair at the back of the other's neck.

Harry bit the blonde's bottom lip, felt arousal flood through him as cool fingers slipped down the back of his shirt– and had to _force _himself to pull away. "Malfoy, no," he said firmly.

"Why not?" Draco asked, pouting. His eyes drifted down to Harry's groin. "I know you want to," he said seductively, fingers reaching for him.

Harry grabbed the questing hand before it could make contact with his jeans and gently set it back down on the blonde's lap. "Not like this," he repeated. "You're not feeling well. You need to rest."

Draco sighed; let his head fall down to his chest. "Fine," he muttered.

They was an awkward silence for a second, and then Draco scooted over and gestured for Harry to sit next to him. Vaguely surprised, the brunette crawled forward and sat shoulder to shoulder with the other boy, silently wondering why he'd been asked to do so.

Draco sighed again and set his head on Harry's shoulder, curling his body towards the warmth of the other boy's presence and closing his eyes peacefully.

"Err– w-what are you doing?" Harry asked, feeling distinctly uncomfortable– they'd never done anything like this, nothing that felt so...intimate, in a non-sexual way.

"You said I needed to rest," Draco murmured, inwardly smirking at the affect he was having on the other boy. "That's what I'm doing."

"Um. O-okay," Harry stammered, warily eyeing the blonde head tucked underneath his chin. He sat stiffly and awkwardly, but he didn't make any move to pull away, and for that Draco was thankful.

The blonde inhaled deeply, feeling warm, feeling _safe_, feeling like...like nothing and no one could touch him. He'd never felt more at peace.

At that moment, a random, strange thought occurred to him, and it terrified him almost as much as it thrilled him.

_I wish I could stay here forever. With him._


	4. Fears

**AN:** So, this one's a bit shorter, but I liked where it ended so I figured I'd stop before it ended up being a million pages long xD Anyway, hope ya like it-- as always I appreciate everyone's support, and please read n review!

**Pairings:** Harry/Draco, Blaise/Seamus

**Warnings:** violence, cursing

**Disclaimer:** Not mine

-------------------

When Draco awoke, Harry was gone. He resisted the urge to pout, strangely wishing that the other was still there; even though they would've probably gotten into some stupid fight, he'd much rather be sleeping on a warm chest than the uncomfortable back of the couch he was now pressed against.

"Fucking Potter," he grumbled as he blearily opened his eyes.

_Oh. That's odd._ The other boy hadn't taken his jacket; it was draped over his own body, warm and soft.

_Wait a sec, _a small voice spoke up in his head. _You took that off after Potter came in. After you fell asleep, he must've..._

Draco couldn't suppress the smug grin that spread across his face at the realization.

_Caught you, Potter._

COMINGCLEAN

"Where were you last night, mate?" Ron asked, watching Harry from his bed as the other boy attempted to sneak into their room.

"Oh!" Harry yelped, startled, turning to face the redhead. "Err, I was studying with Hermione and I lost track of time," he lied, simply too tired and sore to make up something better.

Ron's eyes narrowed. "You two studied for the whole night?" he asked dubiously.

"What is this, an interrogation?" Harry snapped, irritably. He softened his voice when he saw Ron's hurt look. "Sorry, mate. I'm just really hungry. Breakfast is almost over, you coming or what?"

Ron's face suddenly split into a wide grin. "Hell yeah, I'm coming! Malfoy's _got _to get a Howler today, he's just got to! We can't miss that!" he yelled gleefully, forgetting completely about Harry's lack of presence in their room the previous night as he jumped up and began getting dressed.

After a few minutes of getting ready, the two headed down to the Great Hall, chatting and laughing as if nothing had ever changed between them. Harry couldn't help but feel extraordinarily relieved; the reveal of what he and Draco had been doing could have destroyed his friendship with his best friend, but it seemed everything was going to be okay now.

_Yeah, only because you lied, _a little voice probed. _If he knew the truth, he wouldn't be acting so buddy-buddy, and you know it._

Harry stiffened and resolutely ignored it. They strode into the Hall and walked over to the Gryffindor table; Harry couldn't help but glance surreptitiously over at Slytherin just before he sat down– he caught sight of Draco, sitting at the very far end of his table, completely alone, with no one within a five chair radius of him.

"Good morning, Harry!" Hermione chirped, tearing Harry's eyes away from the blonde.

"Wha–? Oh, hi, 'Mione," he greeted distractedly. "How are you?"

"I'm sure she's exhausted from helping you study all night, mate," Ron laughed, clapping him jovially on the shoulder.

Hermione gave Harry a pointed glare and Harry responded with a pleading look.

"Err, yes," she finally replied to Ron with a put-upon sigh. "I am quite tired after such a lengthy study session. Harry here just didn't want to stop until he got it right."

"That doesn't sound like Harry," Seamus snorted, piling french toast onto his plate.

Harry looked up at him, ready to give him a friendly glare, but then Seamus leaned forward in a certain way and he caught sight of something on his neck– a hickey?

"Say, Seamus," he drawled, barely successful in holding in his laughter. "Looks like you had a better night than 'Mione and I."

"W-what?" the Irish boy stammered, immediately turning a brilliant shade of red.

Harry's voice dropped to an amused stage-whisper. "Nice hickey, Finnigan."

The whole table burst into laughter, and Seamus hurriedly did up his collar, looking beet red and supremely embarrassed.

"Shut up!" he said heatedly. "Damnit, Harry, you arse! You're just mad because _I _can get someone other than _Draco Malfoy_ to give me hickeys!"

The table went still, and looked to Harry for a response; should they laugh? Be angry? It _was _funny. The brunette honestly wasn't sure what to do– give the boy a dirty look and tell him off, or ignore it? Or would laughter be the best way to go?

Which would make this whole ruse more believable?

He felt sick at the consideration, but knew he couldn't stop with this lie now; the reaction to the truth would only be that much worse.

He opened his mouth to speak, but it turned out he didn't have to make a decision, because Seamus hurried to apologize, "Sorry, mate. That came out wrong."

"Sure did," Ron snapped protectively. "You know he did what he had to, Seamus. Don't go on bringing up bad memories."

"Yeah, I know," Seamus mumbled, looking guilty. "Sorry."

"It's alright, mate," Harry accepted, giving him a warm nod. "I'm sorry too– I didn't mean to embarrass you just now."

It wasn't a genuine apology– he actually _had _thought it was pretty funny, and the guy deserved it for being such a homophobic prick the other day– but he figured it was something he should say, something people _expected_ him to say. He had the strange thought, then, that he was rather like a puppet.

"Hey, Harry," said a sweet voice from behind him, startling him. "Could I sit beside you?"

Harry turned to see Ginny– looking rumpled from sleep but still beautiful– gesturing to the seat on his left. "Sure, Gin," he said gently, giving her a smile that made his eyes crinkle at the corners. "Go ahead."

Ron started a group 'aww', to which Harry and Ginny promptly turned bright red.

"Quit it, Ron," Harry whined. "You're supposed to be...upset about it, not encouraging it."

"It's different with you, mate!" Ron declared, smiling genuinely. "I know you would never hurt her. You wouldn't hurt a fly."

Harry winced, thinking about Draco and all of the indirect pain he'd caused him, and didn't feel the same. He didn't have time to dwell on his guilt, though, because suddenly Draco's owl was floating through the air, heading straight for the lone blonde with a red letter clutched in its beak.

A hush fell over the Hall as everyone waited with baited breath for the beautiful bird to reach its intended target.

Draco watched it warily, wondering what his father could possibly say to him. He'd dreamt about it all night– he hoped he hadn't been talking in his sleep– but he knew nothing could prepare him for the real thing. His whole body tensed and his throat swelled to twice its size as the bird made its way towards him.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, his owl delicately dropped the letter onto his lap, and sped off.

The letter immediately burst open– obviously a Howler– and everyone grimaced, expecting loud noises. They were sorely mistaken.

When Lucius Malfoy's voice spoke up, it was cool and detached, devoid of any emotion whatsoever.

"Draco," it began. "I'm very disappointed in you."

There was a long, purposeful pause– so that the statement could sink in– during which Draco winced and tried not to tremble.

"I've arranged for you to have a week of excused absence so that you can come back to the Manor," it continued, the voice cold and clipped. _And learn your lesson, _was left unsaid, but Draco certainly heard it.

"Please gather your homework for the week and have your things ready by tomorrow afternoon. I will be by at 2:00 to pick you up. Do not be late."

The Howler dropped, and it was so quiet in the Hall that the sound of it hitting the table echoed.

Draco swallowed thickly. "Well?" he demanded shakily. "What are you all gawking at?"

That seemed to break the reverie that had fallen upon the students; they all began to talk again, excitedly, gossiping about what Lucius had said and what they thought he was going to do to Draco.

It was vaguely sick, Harry thought– that they were relishing in him getting punished, when none of them knew just what that entailed. He had a feeling if they'd seen the bruises he had after the young Malfoy came back from his Manor visits, they wouldn't be so keen on laughing about it.

He glanced over at Draco, felt his stomach twist in discomfort; even though he was sitting far away from him, Harry could still see that the other's back was rigid with tension and that his fingers were shaking so badly he could barely hold his spoon.

Draco was scared. Harry could see it in every nuance of his behavior.

...Why did he have that strange urge to wrap his arms around him again?

COMINGCLEAN

"You're late, Potter," Draco drawled, leaning back against the wall behind him.

Harry closed the wooden doors of the Room of Requirement then stepped into the room. "Sorry," he muttered. "I got caught up with Ron."

"Oh?" Draco asked, raising a suggestive eyebrow.

"Not like that, you prat," Harry snorted. "We were just talking."

"About?" Draco asked, a little warily.

"Did we suddenly become friends and I just didn't realize it?" Harry asked, sounding amused. "It seems like we're having an actual conversation here."

"You wouldn't know 'conversation' if it hit you in the face, Potter," Draco said, automatically.

Harry laughed, and it was a rather pleasant sound. "Do you make a list, Malfoy?" he asked, eyes sparkling in amusement.

"A list of what?" Draco asked, huffily.

"Of all the retorts you can say to me?" Harry asked, smile still playing around his mouth. Draco had the abrupt urge to kiss it.

"I don't need to, Potter," he said easily, idly tugging at a stray lock of blonde. "My quick-witted nature allows me to come up with them on the spot."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Pretentious git," he said, more fondly than he'd anticipated.

Draco merely raised an eyebrow at the tone, then, after a moment, strolled up to him, eyelids lowering in a sultry expression. "So, what _were _you talking about with the Weasel?" he persuasively prompted.

Harry shrugged uncomfortably, beginning to get irritated. "What does it matter, Malfoy?"

Draco scowled. "I want to know if you were talking shit about me, Potter. Again."

"So what if I was?" Harry asked defiantly. "I can talk about whoever I want."

Draco gritted his teeth, annoyed; but not horribly so. He'd let it go, for now.

"Fine," he sighed, dramatically. "Don't tell me." He stepped forward and began pulling at Harry's shirt. "Let's just get to the good part, hm?"

Biting his lip, Harry made a split-second decision and pushed Draco's hands away. "No," he said simply.

"W-what?" Draco asked, looking truly flabbergasted. "You don't want to...?"

"Oh, I do," Harry reassured, "But not until later."

Draco looked confused. "So...what do you want to do 'until later', then?" he asked slowly.

Harry smirked a little. "Talk," he replied, shrugging. "You can show me that decent conversation I've been apparently lacking for so long."

The silence was deafening.

Draco's eyes were stricken. Finally, voice weak, he asked, "Erm, what the _hell_ are you on, Potter?"

Harry couldn't help it– it was all just so ridiculous– he burst into loud laughter, and gasped, "Malfoy, it's just a _conversation _with me! You're acting like it's the end of the world! Merlin, you're so fucking..."

"Indescribable? Handsome? Witty?" Draco filled in, looking vaguely amused himself, in a befuddled sort of way.

"Mm, all of the above," Harry said, suddenly sobering.

Draco felt his breath catch in his throat; heat coiled up in his gut and raced through his veins as their eyes met. Pulled as if by some magnetic force, he stepped towards the other boy, until they were chest to chest, noses nearly touching.

When their lips touched, it wasn't sexual. Something seemed to have...shifted between them. There was an element of tenderness that hadn't been there before– some vague softness that made the edges not quite as sharp, made the contact not as bruising– the kiss wasn't explosive, wasn't electric– it was just _nice_.

It was unlike anything either of them had felt before.

COMINGCLEAN

"Psst, Finnigan!"

Seamus paused, internally gauging how much time he had to get to Potions class; he didn't want to stop to chat with someone and end up facing the wrath of Snape.

After a moment he turned and walked towards the direction of the sound, expression twisted in slight wariness– he was in Slytherin territory, after all.

"Who's there?" he asked in a hushed whisper, peering about the dark hallway.

There was silence for a moment, and then he bit back a yelp as he was grabbed by the collar and yanked backwards into a broom closet.

"What the fuck, who is this, damnit!" he cursed, writhing in the surprisingly strong grip as darkness closed around him.

"Easy, Seamus, it's just me," Blaise breathed into the Irish boy's ear, licking the skin he found there. "Who else would it be? Do you have lots of boys pulling you into closet trying to–

"Don't fucking say that!" Seamus shouted, struggling wildly. "Get off of me, you bloody bastard!"

"Still so feisty," Blaise said, amused, fingers threading through the thick brown hair. "Why do you fight me every time, Finnigan?"

"Because you're a bloody faggot who won't get the fuck _off me_!" Seamus shouted, pulling away one last forceful time and finally succeeding in breaking out of the other boy's grip. He stood there, breathing hard, wanting to storm out but, like always, somehow unable to leave.

After a long moment, Blaise spoke. "You know you're infuriating, right?" he pointed out blithely, crossing his arms over his chest and watching the Irish boy, eyes glittering in the dark.

"I mean, it's so hot and cold with you," he continued, taking a few slow steps closer to him. "You have this..._cycle_. First _you _come to _me,_ usually drunk off your ass, wanting to fuck," a touch to his neck, barely a ghost of fingers against the flushed, marked skin, "then you put on this homophobic act," he was behind him now, breath hot in his ear, "And then you come back for more."

He slipped his arms around the other boy's waist, rocked them back and forth. "And now you're trying to push me away again." He pressed his lips to the soft place just underneath the other boy's jaw. "So which is it, Seamus?" he asked softly. "What do you _really _want?"

"D-Don't call me that," the other boy said, weakly, arching his neck against his own will at the feel of those lips so close to his skin.

Blaise took the small ear into his mouth and swiped his tongue over the shell, the way he knew Seamus loved; the other boy's knees buckled underneath him at the sensation and Blaise was quick to wrap his arms around the trembling torso and hold him up.

"You can't deny that you like this," he breathed, pressing a kiss to the side of the boy's face and sliding a hand down to grip the now prominent erection. "You can't help what it does to you."

At the touch, at the exploitation of the _proof _of his obvious arousal, at the realization that he– that he might _like_– like _this_,without alcohol in his system to blame for it– Seamus went very, very still in Blaise's grip.

It was the calm before the storm.

Very suddenly, Seamus felt all-encompassing, fear-induced _rage _surge through him; he slammed an elbow back into the other boy's ribs and yelled, "Get the _fuck _off of me, you_ faggot_!"A stunned Blaise stumbled to his knees, bending over his stomach and coughing; before he could even prepare for another hit, Seamus reared an arm back and drove a fist as hard as he could into the snide, smug face; Blaise's head was thrown to the side with the force of it, and he clutched a hand to his broken nose, feeling tears of pain prickle his eyes.

"Seamus, stop!" he begged, through the blood and the snot.

"I'm not like you!" Seamus howled, nearly incoherent now, still kicking and punching at the prone body below him. "I'm not a _fag_! I never will be, so stop fucking trying to–

"Who's in there? Come out immediately!" shouted a voice from outside, sounding suspiciously like Snape.

"Fuck!" Seamus yelled, barely able to restrain himself from continuing what he was doing, anger still pumping hot in his veins; his fists clenched and unclenched at his sides, fingers _itching _to find purchase once again.

"Come out, I said!" Snape repeated, banging on the door.

The Irish boy couldn't seem to think fast enough– he was still so _angry_, and Blaise was groaning pitifully, and he _refused _to look at the other boy because he didn't want to see that he was _shaking_, that there was red, scarlet blood spurting out of his nose and down his fingers; that one arm was curled around his middle, where Seamus had just been slamming his booted feet into– _damnit, I didn't mean to, I swear–_ Seamus dug his bloody fingers into his hair and tugged, a strangled noise coming out of his throat.

Then Blaise moaned and made a noise that sounded like "hurts", and Seamus felt his heart jolt his chest.

What the fuck had he done?

"Alohamora!" Snape bellowed, and immediately the door was wrenched open. The professor looked mildly shocked as his eyes alit upon Blaise, but then his expression quickly morphed into rage– he grabbed Seamus by the ear and dragged him out, grip rough and unforgiving.

"You could have killed him, you _imbecile_," he snarled, spit flying over the Irish boys face.

Seamus looked down in shame, then saw the blood on his hands and shifted his gaze back up, throat throbbing too badly to say anything.

"Well? You have no defense, Finnigan?" Snape demanded, shaking him.

Seamus merely shook his head, and Snape sighed in exasperation. "You will stay here until I return," he bit out, before turning around and heading towards the broom closet.

Seamus waited stiffly, trying to ignore the feeling of dripping liquid down his hands. It made him feel sick.

He heard groaning and he looked up; Snape was helping Blaise through the threshold; the other boy looked a mess– his face was bathed in blood, snot, and tears, and the blows to his ribs were causing him to have an odd bend at the waist and a weird sort of hobble.

"B-Blaise," Seamus whispered, involuntarily. "I..."

The other boy looked up, and Seamus felt his eyes begin to sting; Blaise looked so...angry and betrayed, so absolutely...disgusted by him.

"I'm taking him to the Hospital Wing, but you are to go straight to Dumbledore's office, is that clear?" Snape said, voice dripping venom.

Seamus merely nodded, physically unable to respond, and turned to walk down the hallway; just as he took his first step he heard Snape call,

"Fifty points from Gryffindor, Finnigan."

And, Seamus thought, he deserved a lot more than that for what he'd done.

COMINGCLEAN

"So what are we gonna talk about, Potter?" Draco asked, lazily drawing circles on the armrest beside him. He'd moved to the couch after their strangely tender moment, mostly because Harry had pushed him away before he could take it from a kiss to all out sex– apparently this whole 'talking' business was pretty important to the git. Draco figured he'd oblige for as long as he had to before Harry's will broke and the brunette conceded to fucking him into the floor.

It seemed like a good plan.

Harry stood from his spot on the floor and sat on the other side of the couch, not liking the difference in levels between them, and replied, "Your father."

Draco visibly flinched. "Merlin, Potter, you certainly get right to the point."

"So I've been told," Harry said with a half-smile, remembering the other boy panting that very same sentiment in his ear the day before. "Well?" he prompted after a moment. "Talk, Malfoy."

The blonde shifted, very uncomfortably. "I don't want to, so you better pick another subject or I'm done with this," he snapped.

Harry scoffed, irritated. "Stop being a pansy. It's not that hard to–

"How about you tell me about Cedric, Harry?" Draco suddenly mocked in a sing-song voice. "Tell me, detail by detail, how he died. Or how about your parents. Want to try that one on for size?"

Harry refused to let the rage get the best of him. "You're an arse, Malfoy," he said through gritted teeth. "I just want to help you."

"Would it help _you_, to talk about any of those things?" Draco countered, tone sharp.

"Well, no, but–

"Exactly," Draco said emphatically. "That's because it's _your_ business, just like my father is mine. Got it?"

Harry wanted to scream, he was so irritated. "Yes, _Malfoy, _I've got it," he spit.

"Good," Draco approved, steepling his fingers under his chin and gazing at the other boy. "So, are we going to forget about this whole talking thing, or do you still want to go through with this whole ruse?"

"He hits you, doesn't he?" Harry asked abruptly, curiosity getting the best of him.

"F-f-fucking– screw you, Potter!" Draco yelled, getting to his feet and making to storm over to the door, so enraged he could barely see straight.

Harry was quicker and grabbed his robes, pulling them hard enough to send the blonde toppling onto the couch, right on top of him.

Draco struggled wildly, but he was too caught up in his robes and Harry's limbs to escape. He flailed angrily for a few long minutes while the brunette merely lay there, waiting for Draco to exhaust himself. He didn't have to wait long– after another minute of trying to extricate himself from the tangled mess he'd become, the blonde slumped, resignedly, upon Harry's chest.

"I hate you," he murmured, fingers digging into the cloth of Harry's shirt.

"I hate you too," Harry automatically replied.

They were silent for a moment.

"Are you scared?" Harry asked softly, voice calm and low.

Draco bit his lip, toyed with the fabric underneath his fingers. "Yes," he finally whispered.

After that, neither of them said a word.

--------------

**AN:** Ooh, ominous! There's gonna be some big stuff comin' up :O Read n review, people!

Lots n lots of love!

CSTSS


	5. Realizations

**AN:** Whew, this one's a pretty long one! It's a lot of Blaise/Seamus, I know, but Harry and Draco will be back in the spotlight next chapter. This was just a transition that needed to happen before Draco went off to the Manor. Anyway, I'm pretty happy with it, but I'd love some feedback! Read n review, por favor! Oh, and thank you so much to all of the people who have already reviewed-- I appreciate the support so much!

**Pairings:** Harry/Draco, Blaise/Seamus

**Warnings:** not explicit gore, kissing, cursing

**Disclaimer:** not mine

--------------------

Seamus had never felt so disgusted with himself.

How could he have hurt another person like that? Sure, he'd gotten angry before and ended up in fistfights– but he'd never just _beat _a person, when they weren't even defending themselves.

He felt... cruel. He felt guilty. And most of all, he felt afraid. Afraid of the feelings that had triggered the rage; afraid of the epiphany dancing on the edges of his mind; afraid that Blaise would never speak to him again.

Why did that last one terrify him more than any of the others?

He sighed, burying his hands in his hair and tugging hard. He'd showered, but he still felt so...dirty. He could still feel Blaise's blood on his skin. It made his stomach churn with nausea.

He'd just been so...surprised. He hadn't expected Blaise to be the one calling to him in the hallway– after all, it went against their little pattern that they'd developed over the past few months, ever since he'd gotten drunk at a Halloween party and ended up sleeping with the other boy.

_Your 'cycle',_ his mind reminded, bringing back Blaise's words.

Yes, he supposed cycle was a good word for it.

For some reason, months ago Seamus had found himself inexplicably...drawn to the other boy. After their first drunken sexual encounter, he'd told himself it would never happen again– he'd forced himself to remember his childhood, to remember all of the horrible things he'd heard about faggots and the like; and for a while, he'd been able to keep up the act– but in the end he just hadn't been ableto_ stay away. _

It went on like that for months, ping-ponging back and forth from him coming to Blaise, drunk and horny, to vehemently pushing him away, adamant that he'd never go back. He'd just always feel so disgustingly _guilty _afterwards– he'd go to the showers most of the time and scrub until his skin was practically raw. After that, he'd ignore Blaise for days, usually weeks– and right when he would start to feel remotely normal and straight again, that little magnetic pull would start up again; that coil of heat in his gut that would writhe and curl at the mere _thought _of the other boy– and before he'd know it, he'd find himself in bed with him again.

He always resisted at first– the bigotry and denial was something ingrained deeply within him– but he rarely got _angry_ with the other boy. He didn't know why this time had made him so inexplicably _enraged. _He supposed that maybe it had been the surprise of it all? Or perhaps the lack of control?

The latter certainly made sense; before tonight he'd always been in control of when they would meet up again, how far they would go, etc– it was a part of his 'cycle.' Blaise had purposefully broken it, trying to get a rise out of him, trying to get him to admit to things he'd never confront– and it had all been too much for Seamus. After being faced with the picture of Draco and Harry on the front page and the horrible reaction to it, he'd already been overwhelmed with unwanted feelings of fear and guilt and trepidation; he hadn't needed Blaise to come in the picture and put so much _pressure _on him–

He sighed explosively, feeling sick again. Was he _really _blaming the other boy for what_ he'd_ done?

He scowled at himself, even more ashamed. He sounded like a typical abuser– 'they asked for it', 'if only they hadn't of riled me up', etc... and he wasn't like that. He _wasn't_.

He'd made a mistake. That's all.

He sighed again, feeling like he wanted to vomit; he was having _way _too many realizations about himself for one night– he honestly just wanted a good drink and a long sleep.

And to forget that any of this year had ever happened.

If only.

COMINGCLEAN

Harry very quietly walked into the common room, peering around to see if any of his friends were about. Seeing that the coast was clear, he quickly headed for his room, only to stop short as he realized Seamus was sitting in the very corner of the common room, huddled by the fireplace looking miserable.

"Seam?" Harry called, heading towards him with a concerned look on his face. "Are you alright?"

The Irish boy looked up at him, and Harry nearly gasped; his eyes were...haunted. They were red and bright, and swirling within them was an amount of self-hatred that Harry had never seen before. "Merlin, Seamus, what's wrong?" he asked, all misgivings of the boy immediately leaving him as his protective nature kicked in. "Did someone hurt you?"

"Nuh–no," Seamus whispered, looking all the more agonized at the question. "No one hurt _me._"

Harry scratched his head, biting his lip in confusion. "Um, okay, do you want to talk about it?" he asked hesitantly.

Seamus immediately shook his head, the motion frantic. "I'll be fine, Harry. Just go to bed." He shooed him with hands that were scrubbed nearly to the point of bleeding.

Harry eyed them concernedly, wanting to ask, wanting to pry– but finally sighed and said, "Alright. Feel better, Seamus."

He walked away, lips turning downwards in worry.

"Wait!" Seamus suddenly called out, sounding oddly desperate.

Harry immediately turned around and looked at him, eyebrows raised in question.

"When you were w-with Malfoy," Seamus blurted out, swallowing compulsively, "Did you ever–did you ever–_l-l– li–_

He stopped and abruptly began shaking his head as if there were something raging around inside of it. "No, no– nevermind, nevermind, I don't know what I'm saying," he muttered anxiously. "Just go to bed, Harry. Please."

Utterly bewildered but definitely intrigued, Harry said softly, "Seamus, you can talk to me. I won't judge you, you know that."

Seamus looked up at him, then, with eyes laced with hope and shining with fear. He opened his mouth to speak, and Harry felt hope surge through him; but then the other boy shook his head again, vehemently, and said, "No, Harry. No, no– I'll just–just deal with it on my own. Everything's fine, really."

Harry wanted to press him for more information– he felt like his friend was collapsing right in front of him, and there was nothing he could do about it. "If you change your mind..." he finally offered, letting the words trail off.

Seamus nodded, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed again, and said nothing.

"G'night, then," Harry said softly, reluctantly. He didn't want to leave the other boy when he was in this state– but it was obvious Seamus wanted to figure it out on his own.

"Night," Seamus replied, and his voice was choked. He watched Harry leave, then curled up into himself, feeling like some sort of monster. He'd never felt so...awful. He could still feel Blaise's blood on his hands; even after all his vigorous, nearly violent scrubbing, he could still feel his skin crawling with it.

_I wonder if he's okay. _

The thought came, unbidden, and he shuddered at the idea.

_I couldn't go see him. He'd kick me out, for sure. _

_...Do I even _want _to see him?_

He bit his lip, suddenly realizing something.

He could end it. Right now. Label the whole thing as a lapse of judgement– proof of his remorse shown by the fact that he'd beaten the shit out of Blaise.

Couldn't he do that?

Couldn't he say that–that Blaise, the faggot that he was, had tried to seduce him– and he'd fallen prey to his disgusting advances simply because he'd been intoxicated?

Couldn't he?

_No, _a little voice spoke up in his head. _Because it would be a lie_.

COMINGCLEAN

Draco couldn't sleep.

Harry had left hours before, and he found himself wishing, again, that the other was still there– this time not for want of a pillow, but ... well, he didn't honestly know, just _because._

He supposed it had to do with the fact that something about Harry made Draco feel...safe. And it wasn't just the pure magical power radiating off of him– yes, Draco had finally admitted to himself that Harry _was _a wizard prodigy; however _he _was still better looking– it was something intangible, some aura about the brunette that made Draco feel like nothing and no one in the world could touch him.

_...Not even Lucius? _his mind prompted cruelly.

Draco could not help a shudder, but he muttered firmly, "Not even L-Lucius."

The voice snorted in amusement. _No one can stop him, Draco. You know that._

Draco swallowed thickly, feeling sick. "You're wrong," he said weakly.

The voice didn't say anything in return. The blonde nearly cursed, feeling decidedly anxious, and wondered what time it was– wondered how many hours he had left before his father arrived. He shivered in fear and curled up tighter into Harry's jacket (which he'd conveniently forgotten to give back to the other boy before he'd left), inhaling its scent and taking comfort from its warmth.

After a minute or two, he once again closed his eyes and tried to slip into sleep; yet still, it remained elusive.

_One week. I can make it one week, right?_

Right?

COMINGCLEAN

Seamus shifted Harry's invisibility cloak so that it covered the entirety of his body, then moved clumsily out of the dorm room, trying not to make noise even as emotions thrummed like electricity through his veins.

He had no idea what he was doing; why he'd stolen Harry's cloak, why he was heading to the Hospital Wing, why he wanted to find Blaise and apologize and tell him he didn't mean it and kiss him and–

– _fuck. _He _had _to stop thinking. Immediately.

He was just going to _go_– no questions, no more analyzing, no more _thinking._

He walked briskly, legs like jello, causing him to stumble every few steps– but luckily no one was in the hallway, so his shuffling trek would not be heard. After a few minutes, he reached the Hospital Wing, and his whole body became a bundle of nerves and coiled tension.

_Why the fuck did I come here? He won't want to see me– and _I _definitely don't want to see _him_! _

_Yes you do, _that annoying voice spoke up again.

Seamus gritted his teeth; fucking hell, he _did _want to see him He wanted to see if the other boy was alright; and, truthfully, he wanted to see if he hadn't–if he hadn't broken this, for good.

_What is "this", anyway? What the hell do we _have_?_

He didn't know anymore. Hell, he'd never known what they were. He'd been too busy trying to deny the fact that he even–that he even– that he might have_– _

_Fuck, _he still couldn't even admit it. He shook his head emphatically, once again resolving to _stop thinking _so damn much, and stepped inside the hospital, eyes searching out Blaise's lithe figure and dark hair.

It didn't take long. The other boy was lying in a bed far in the corner of the room, still awake and staring blankly ahead of himself. He looked better, at least; his face was cleaned of blood and other traces of the assault, and his nose had been straightened– Seamus could only make out a slight bump on the ridge of it– but his robes, unfortunately, had not been changed; Seamus could still see the dark stains mottling the blue fabric.

His stomach lurched uncomfortably at the sight.

_Why _was he here again?

He stopped, biting his lip in indecision. They were all alone– not even Madame Pomfrey was wandering around (which made sense because it was nearly 3 in the morning)– and Seamus did _not_ want to be subject to Blaise's wrath if his appearance excited a bad reaction from the larger boy.

Just as Seamus resolved to leave, Blaise's head suddenly turned, and his eyes locked right on his own.

Utterly shocked, the Irish boy stumbled backwards, tripping over himself and the end of the cloak; he wound up on his arse on the cool tiles, the stolen, silky cloth falling from his body like a curtain opening for a show.

"Shit," he cursed, feeling supremely embarrassed and exposed. _Good one, Seamus._.

"Finnigan," Blaise drawled, voice cold and calculating, eyes narrowing in distaste at the mess before him, "To what do I owe the pleasure of this unexpected visit?"

Seamus shakily got to his feet and stared down at his hands, biting his lip as uncertainty surged through him. "I, um..." His throat was too dry to speak. He swallowed, trying to clear it, but it was like a brick had formed in his neck, solid and unforgiving.

"Cat got your tongue, Finnigan?" Blaise mocked, mouth curling in a disdainful sneer. He tossed his head to the side, all beauty and pretentiousness. "No matter; it's not as if anything you have to say is of any value."

Seamus blinked, definitely stung. "Why– why are you being like this?" he asked softly, feeling like his chest was caving in. Here he was, emotions a maelstrom of chaotic thoughts and wants and fears, hands sweating, heart feeling like it was going to come up out of his throat– and there was Blaise, perfectly calm, stoic in his indifference and distaste.

He truthfully wished that the other boy would just show an _ounce _of warmth, of recognition– this person in front of him was so cold and hard; Seamus could've dropped dead at that moment and he wouldn't have batted an eye.

_Look at me, _Seamus thought pleadingly. _Don't act like I'm nothing._

Blaise turned to stare at him, then, and Seamus immediately wished he he'd never wanted him to in the first place; never before had he seen such disgust or hatred for _him_ in someone else's eyes. It..._hurt_, in a way he'd never felt nor imagined.

"Because," the other boy replied, tone like ice, neither noticing nor caring about Seamus' obvious discomfort. "I don't give a _shit_ about you or your feelings. You make me sick, you fucking _coward._"

Seamus felt like he'd been slapped. He stood there for a moment, frozen with hurt and doubt. "I'm–I'm sorry," he finally struggled. "I know I–I fucked it up–I _know it_, b-but I'm so _sorry_ and–

"Stop rambling, Finnigan, it's nauseating," Blaise snapped, lips twisting in an unattractive sneer. "And your lame, false apologies will get nowhere with me. This–whatever we had– is completely and utterly _through. _I don't ever want to see you again. In fact, I wish I'd never met you. Now why don't you _get lost _so that I can attempt to obliterate your presence from my memories."

Seamus swallowed bile. "P-please don't be like this," he whispered, voice becoming a touch more desperate. "I didn't mean to– you have to believe me, I–

"Goddamnit, Seamus!" Blaise exploded, getting to his feet, the arm curled around his middle not making him any less intimidating. "You _won_! You got one up on the faggot, congratulations! Now why can't you fucking _leave me alone_?!"

There was a moment of stunned silence.

"W-what?" Seamus finally stammered, frightened and confused. "What are you talking–

"Don't play dumb with me, you little _shit,_" Blaise growled, pointing a finger at him in accusation. "I know exactly what you were up to. You thought 'hey, why not lead him on, make him think I'm actually _interested–_and then, just when he gets caught up and thinks something might really be _there,_ I'll tear the rug out from underneath him!'" He stalked up close to Seamus, expression more angry than the smaller Irish boy had ever seen it. "Well congratu-fucking-lations, Finnigan, your grand plan worked," he said, voice livid and frighteningly cold. "Now get the _fuck _out of here before I decide to return the favor."

Seamus' lips trembled, but he stood his ground. "I d-didn't have any _plan_ to hurt you, Blaise," he insisted, tremulously. "It just–just–

"It just what? _Happened_?" Blaise sneered, looking down at the boy in condescension and disgust. "Don't make me laugh. I'm sure you've been planning that big explosion for months now."

_Please stop looking at me like that. _"That's n-not true," Seamus whispered, brokenly. He felt tears prick his eyes and forced himself to hold them back. "I-I don't know _why _I did it; if–if I could take it back, I–

"Than you would?" Blaise finished sardonically. "Well look at you, using every cliche line in the book– 'I didn't mean to', 'If I could take it back I would', 'It just happened'...Merlin, Finnigan, why don't you just write them all down and give them to me in one go instead of wasting my life with your meaningless blabbering?"

Seamus bit his lip, beginning to step backwards– he felt like everything was crashing down around him, and there was the distinct sensation of a knife being twisted in his chest, which was making it hard to breathe. "F-f-fine," he struggled, throat _throbbing_. "I'll g-go. I won't b-bother you again."

Blaise ignored the minuscule part of him that wanted to wrap the obviously distressed boy in his arms and squeeze him until the tears were gone, using the memories of the past few hours to fuel his anger. "Good," he replied, purposefully making his voice sound inordinately pleased and relieved. "I was beginning to think I'd never be rid of you."

_Filth that you are, _was on his tongue, but for some reason he didn't go that far– he figured it had something to do with the way Seamus' face crumpled in a sob just before he turned around and took off towards the door.

Blaise made no move to stop him, merely swallowed thickly, staring at the spot for long after Seamus had left it.

He felt vaguely sick.

_Hypocrite, _his mind mocked. _You just hurt him equally as badly as he hurt you._

And you know, Blaise thought, as he climbed back into bed, he really didn't feel satisfied, like he'd expected to. Instead, he could only think about Seamus' face, and the blatant agony he'd seen shining through the eyes he'd grown to know so well.

_Your words wouldn't have hurt him so much if he didn't care, _that stubborn voice reminded him. _There's something there, Blaise. He's feeling something, whether he wants to admit it or not. You just have to be patient._

He sighed, too tired to deal with the whole situation anymore. He pulled the covers over his torso and fell into a fitful sleep.

COMINGCLEAN

Seamus ran until he couldn't run anymore; he was so blinded by tears and _hurt _and pain that he didn't even know where he was going– all he knew was that he didn't want to stop until the horrible feelings crawling underneath his skin and stabbing at his chest went away.

Somehow, he ended up in the Gryffindor bathrooms, skidding to a stop in front of a mirror, where he panted in sobbing gasps that sounded pathetic even in his own ears.

And then he stared at himself, seeing for the first time how disgustingly pathetiche looked in general– his eyes were bright and red, his cheeks were flushed and wet with tears, and his whole body was _shaking_ like he'd been thrown in ice water.

"It shouldn't hurt like this," he whispered, bringing his hands up to fist in his hair and _pull_, unable to look away from his own eyes in the mirror as he witnessed the naked emotions shining there– the pain, the fear, and the _want_– the desire for a boy... for Blaise.

He froze for a terrifying moment; the world became suddenly clear to him; and right then he knew exactly what was going on inside of him, what he'd been denying for so long.

The realization did not bode well.

"I shouldn't feel this way, god _damnit!_" he exploded, sudden, self-directed anger surging through him. He punched the mirror as hard as he could; it shattered under the assault and sent glass flying– pieces embedded into his skin, into his arms, his face, his shoulders– but he didn't care; in fact, he _relished _in the physical pain, because it was so much better than admitting to the fact that Blaise– that a _boy_– had affected him emotionally in a way he'd never felt before.

Finally, he ran out of strength; his knees buckled and he slid to the floor, sobbing and bleeding. "Goddamnit, Blaise," he whispered, curling up into a ball, feeling the pricks of shards shifting in his skin, tearing and pulling at the soft flesh. "_Damn _you_._.."

Tears dripped down his nose, mingled with scarlet, and he made no move to wipe it away; he felt, very suddenly, as if he'd been scraped dry of every ounce of life and emotion. He felt... utterly numb.

He felt– like he'd just experienced his first broken heart.

COMINGCLEAN

"Psst, Malfoy!"

Draco sighed. He was _really_ getting tired of this whole meeting-up-in-the-middle-of-the-hallway thing.

He walked for a second longer, internally gauging how much time he had before his father was picking him up, and, deciding he had enough time, stopped and muttered, "What? Who's there?"

He had about two seconds to prepare before he was grabbed by the back of the neck and hauled into an empty classroom.

"Wha–the fuck," he sputtered, whirling out of the grip to come face to face with Harry Potter, who was wearing a shit-eating grin that made his eyes glitter in a way that was _certainly _not attractive.

"Hey," was all he said, the frustrating git.

"You could have just asked to speak with me, you brute," Draco snarled, straightening his rumpled robes fussily. "I do not care for being yanked around, Potter."

Harry _giggled. _"You're such a pretentious prat," he said through snickers.

"Why?" Draco snapped. "Because I don't want to look a mess when Lu–when my father arrives?"

And that stopped Harry mid-laugh and brought the temperature of the room down quite a few notches.

The brunette scratched the back of his head sheepishly. "Sorry," he mumbled.

Draco nodded stiffly, acquiescing. "It's fine. But next time, just talk to me in the hallway like a normal person." He couldn't resist adding, "And don't worry, I'm sure your friends wouldn't be upset– they'd probably be cheering you on from the sidelines, thinking that you were up to that sneaky information-gleaning you're so good at."

Harry winced. "When are you going to let that go?"

Draco shrugged. "I personally don't give a shit that you were such a coward. I just think it's amusing that the honorable Boy-Who-Lived couldn't man up to the fact that he's–

"Don't," Harry said warningly.

"Oh, I forgot," Draco began nastily, happy at this sudden opportunity to vent out his fear about the upcoming week on the other boy. "You're not _gay. _You don't like _boys_. You just like to have sex with one every day. You just like to–

Harry grabbed him by the shoulders and slammed him into the door, eyes flashing in anger. "Shut the _fuck _up, Malfoy," he spit. "I could give a shit what you think or say about me. _I _know that I'm not gay, so let's just not have this argument again."

"You're not, huh?" Draco asked, raising an eyebrow as he reached down to grip Harry's rapidly hardening erection. "What's this, then?"

Harry shuddered at the touch, almost succumbing to the flare of want that coiled deep in his gut– but, with an effort, he firmly pushed himself away from the other boy. "Look," he said sternly. "I've come to terms with the fact that there's something about– about _you _that...that–

"Gets you hot?" Draco purred, stepping closer.

Harry's jaw clenched. "Yes," he said, through gritted teeth, holding his hands up to keep Draco from coming any closer. "_But, _that doesn't make me _gay, _Malfoy. It's just–just _you. _No one else."

There was a bit of silence. Had there been a note of...tenderness, in Harry's voice?

No, no, he must've been mistaken. Recovering, Draco said briskly, "Well, whatever, Potter. If it helps you sleep at night, you can go on with this little charade. You and Finnigan can have a big denial party together."

Harry's eyes went wide. "W-what?" he hissed, and Draco felt his stomach drop to his feet.

_Shit. I promised Blaise I wouldn't tell. _

Draco shrugged, as nonchalantly as he could. "You didn't know?" he asked loftily. "I thought everyone could see that from a mile away."

Harry shook his head, a faraway look coming to his eyes. Images of the night before cropped up in his mind; he heard Seamus' voice, choked and ragged–

"_When you were with Draco, did you ever–did you ever–li–_

_Like it, _Harry realized.

Seamus had wanted to know if Harry had enjoyed being with another boy.

It all made sense now.

"Potter?" Draco called, waving a hand in front of the other boy's face. "Earth to Potter!"

"Wha–oh!" Harry yelped, coming back to himself with a start. "Sorry, I was just–just thinking about something, is all."

Draco raised a dubious eyebrow. "Alright," he said slowly. "Well," he pulled his bag up from the ground, where he'd dropped it in the flurry of Harry's assault, "It's been fun, Potter, but I think it's time I get going."

He turned to leave and bit back an annoyed snap when Harry caught his arm and pulled him back towards him.

"Wait a sec," the brunette said, and Draco wondered when and how their lips had gotten so close.

"What?" he breathed, eyes trained on the soft flesh of Harry's mouth.

Harry nearly smirked at the other boy's obvious desire. "Sorry, Malfoy, no time for that," he said, regretfully. "But...I have something for you. For you to take on your trip to the Manor."

And just like that, Draco felt all of the fear and anxiety rush back in an unexpected torrent of emotion. He yanked his arm out of Harry's grip and snarled, "Thanks for reminding me, Potter."

Harry's eyes softened in the face of the blonde's distress. "You really don't want to go, do you?" he asked quietly.

"What the hell do you think?" Draco bit out, annoyed at how obvious he was to read and even more annoyed at the poignant urge he had to just... stay here, with Harry, instead of face his rightful punishment like a proud Malfoy.

"I think you have every right to be afraid," Harry said, very seriously.

Draco blinked, momentarily taken aback by the tone. "He–he only does what he needs to," he insisted, but it sounded false even in his own ears. "It's just discipline. He's a good man."

Harry bit his lip, not wanting to say anything incendiary to the obviously on-edge Malfoy. "Okay," he said neutrally.

Draco sighed, sensing the avoidance tactic and feeling grateful for it– he didn't want to argue either at this point. "Alright, Potter, so what's your big going-away gift for me?" he asked tiredly. "Not something grandiosely romantic, I hope?"

"Of course not," Harry scoffed. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper, then passed it to Draco, a look of anticipation on his face.

The blonde rose his eyebrow disdainfully. "A love letter, Potter?" he asked, eyeing it dubiously.

"No," Harry denied, turning a bit red at the assertion. "Just open it and wait."

Draco, confused, did as he was told. He opened the surprisingly thick almost fabric-like paper and stared at its blankness, waiting for something to happen.

Harry quickly got out an identical piece of paper and scribbled something on it.

Draco's eyes widened and his mouth opened to emit a surprised yelp– words were forming on his paper; he squinted and made out Harry's chicken scratch:

_Please be careful, Malfoy. _

He looked up at the other boy, surprise written all over his face. "H-how'd you get this?" he asked, almost breathlessly. He always admired good magic.

Harry shrugged. "It was a present left for me by my parents..." His throat closed uncomfortably.

Draco instinctively reached out to–to touch him, or something, but then he quickly brought his fingers back, feeling embarrassed. "Err, thanks, Potter," he said stiffly. "This is... nice?"

"I just–I wanted you to be able to reach me, if you needed me," Harry blurted, sensing that Draco didn't know why he'd given him the paper. "You know...if things get too intense, then you can–

"Alert Harry Potter and be rescued by the Hero of the Wizarding World?" Draco asked, lips turning up in anxious amusement. "Just what I've always wanted."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Seriously, Malfoy. If you get in too deep, contact me. Alright?"

Draco, to be honest, was floored that Harry was being so...nice to him. To cover the sudden swell of appreciative emotion, he asked bluntly, "Did you suddenly acquire the ability to find Unplottable places, Potter? Because you won't be able to do shit even if I do use this."

Harry's eyes sparkled, sensing the underlying challenge in the other's voice. "If you need me," he began fiercely, stepping close enough to Draco that the other could feel his breath on his lips. "Then I'll find a way to get to you. And that's all there is to it."

Draco couldn't help it. Before he knew what was happening, he'd grabbed Harry by the waist and crushed their mouths together; they kissed each other breathless, passionate and hurried; at that moment an identical thought raced through both of their minds:

_...When did I start to care?_


	6. Aches

**AN:** Welp, this one's kind of a transition chapter-- but there's still some good stuff in it, so I hope you enjoy!

**Pairings:** Harry/Draco, Blaise/Seamus

**Warnings:** violence, cursing

**Disclaimer:** not mine

---------------------

"Did you see the bathroom?"

"Who broke the mirror?"

"There was blood!"

"What do you think happened?!"

Seamus tried to ignore the whispered conversation as he sat down in his assigned seat for Potions class, glancing briefly at Harry, who gave him a distracted wave in greeting before going back to fidgeting with his books. As the Irish boy waited for class to begin, he tugged anxiously at his sleeves– which didn't quite cover the few nicks on his knuckles– and prayed that it wasn't obvious how affected he was by words being said behind him.

Just when he thought he'd gotten himself under some semblance of control, Blaise Zabini, the object of his distress, walked into the room.

With Pansy draped on his arm.

Seamus froze, eyes locking onto Blaise's with something akin to heartbreak shining in their depths; he absolutely _hated _the torrent of pain that washed over him like a tidal wave; hated the way his breath felt like it had knocked out of his lungs; hated more than _anything _that, even after everything, after all his denying and pushing away, the only thing he truly wanted was for the other boy to walk over to him, grab his face, and kiss him silly.

After a long, intense stare, during which Seamus was sure that Blaise could read every thought running through his head, he finally looked back down at his hands, wishing he had another mirror to break. He was fairly sure that the stinging pain of glass shards embedding into his skin would somewhat soothe the overwhelming _hurt _thrumming through his veins at the very moment.

Harry watched the exchange, worry for Draco somewhat dimming in the face of such a revelation. It was so _obvious_ now. The way Blaise's eyes softened at the sight of the Irish boy, something like regret quivering in them; the way Seamus looked at Zabini, with such pain and longing twisting his features... they were in love, whether they knew it or not.

Harry wondered, unexpectedly, if he and Draco had ever looked the same way.

COMINGCLEAN

"You're late, Draco," Lucius admonished, staring down his nose at his son with a frigid glare. "Would you care to tell me why?"

Draco fucking _despised _the way his heart took off like a galloping racehorse at the mere sight of the man and his hands began to shake and sweat at his sides. "Sorry, Father," he said softly, coming to a stop in front of the towering man with his head bowed in respect. "I did not mean to make you wait."

The taller Malfoy sniffed with condescension. "I asked for a _reason_, Draco– please do not needlessly evade my questions. And look at me when I'm speaking to you."

Draco's head immediately snapped up and his eyes locked with the hard silver of his father's. "I was studying," he said, voice remarkably steady, considering the fact that he was lying through his teeth to a person who considered deceit a most heinous act. "I lost track of time. Forgive me."

Lucius appraised him suspiciously. "What subject?" he asked pointedly.

_He's playing with you, Draco. Trying to get you to slip up. Just stay on your toes. _"Transfiguration," he said smoothly. "Father, pardon me, but my bag is getting rather heavy. Should we continue this conversation at the Manor?"

"I will decide when and where I discuss things with you, Draco," Lucius said, eyes flashing. "And at this moment I am perfectly content with standing right here and finding out why you found the need to–

"Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore's voice called loudly from somewhere behind them; Draco turned around with an acute amount of relief to see him coming out of Hogwarts' doors and making his way down the stairs towards the pair of them.

Lucius gritted his teeth, but easily slid his social mask into place. "Good afternoon, Albus," he greeted as the elder man came to a stop in front of them. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your presence? Surely all is taken care of with my son's absence?" At the words "my son", he put an "affectionate" hand on Draco's shoulder in gesture, tightening in warning when the blonde stiffened automatically.

"All is in order, Lucius," Dumbledore reassured; Draco noticed his eyes were strangely not twinkling as he gazed at the elder Malfoy. "I just wanted to see you off."

Draco knew Lucius' smile was entirely false without even having to see it. "That's very polite of you," he replied, fingers squeezing hard on the word 'polite', making Draco wince as he remembered his previous tardiness. "I'm afraid I can't stay and chat, however," he continued, with put-upon regret. "We need to get home as soon as possible. Narcissa is just dying to see her baby boy."

Draco felt physically sick when the fingers moved to wrap around his shoulders in a 'fatherly' movement of affection.

"I'm sure," Dumbledore said, and was it just him, or did Draco feel a definite coolness radiating off of the normally warm elderly man? "I'll not hold you up any longer." He turned to Draco, and gave him a warm smile. "Draco," he said formally, holding out his hand to shake the blonde's.

Draco took it warily, feeling his father's arm shift just barely to allow the movement, and barely held back a yelp as Dumbledore suddenly pressed something razor sharp into his wrist. The warning flicker in the older wizard's eyes kept him completely silent though, and he pulled back to immediately tug the end of his robe over the bleeding skin.

Lucius, oblivious, reached out a hand to shake Dumbledore's as well. "Thank you for being so cooperative, Albus. Narcissa and I both appreciate the opportunity to spend time with Draco."

Dumbledore's answering smile did not quite reach his eyes. "It's not a problem, Lucius. Draco here is a brilliant student, and I'm sure he won't get behind on his work."

"Of course not," Lucius agreed. "He's got to keep up his _marks_, after all."

Another brief tightening of fingers, and Draco grimaced– his father had probably gotten his latest report card, which had been certainly far from ideal.

"Very well," Dumbledore said briskly. "I'll let you two be on your way, then. See you in a week, Mr. Malfoy."

Draco nodded, trying to ignore the survival instinct deep within him chanting urgently _please stay please don't let him take me please come back_– and firmly turned back to Lucius, resolving for a very long seven days.

Lucius grabbed him by the upper arm, and the grip was bruisingly rough. They they apparated with a 'pop', and Draco felt his heart sink to his stomach as he watched Hogwarts swirl away into the distance.

COMINGCLEAN

"Hey, Seamus, can I talk to you?" Harry asked, as disarmingly as he could, walking across the common room and sitting down on the couch across from the other boy. They'd just gotten out of Potions, and had a brief break before Care of Magical Creatures; he wanted to take advantage of the opportunity to make sure the other boy was alright.

"If you're going to ask me about the fucking mirror, I don't know who did it," Seamus snarled, giving him a heated glare before looking back down at a book held open over his lap.

Harry held his hands up in innocence. "I wasn't going to," he said gently. "I just wanted to see if you were okay. You seemed really upset last night, and this morning–

"Just drop it, Harry," Seamus snapped, and Harry could definitely hear a small note of desperation in his voice. "I really don't want to talk right now."

Harry didn't back down. "Seamus, seriously," he stubbornly persisted. "I can see there's something wrong. I know I could help you, if you'd just let me in."

"Damnit, Harry, I don't _need _any help!" Seamus exploded, famous Irish temper flaring as he leapt to his feet, sending all of his books careening to the floor in a dramatic flurry of papers and loud noises. In the process, his robes slid up, and Harry caught sight of white bandages before the other boy viciously tugged the fabric back down and bent to pick up his fallen school supplies. "Just leave me alone," Seamus growled warningly, straightening and starting to walk away.

"Seamus," Harry said softly, getting to his feet as well. "Wait."

"_What_ _now_?" the other boy hissed, whirling around to glare at him.

Harry smiled sheepishly. "Want to walk to class with me?"

Seamus sighed, tension seeping out of him. "Yeah, mate," he said finally. "Sorry for snapping at you."

Harry nodded, brushing it off. "It's fine," he said genuinely. "Let's just go. We're gonna be late at this rate."

He picked up his bag and joined Seamus at the door, then the two headed down to Hagrid's hut, where the large man was waiting with a cheerful look on his face.

"Afternoon, boys!" he called jovially. "Yer in fer quite the lesson today!"

"I can't wait," Seamus grumbled under his breath.

Harry frowned; ordinarily the boy was fairly enthusiastic about Care of Magical Creatures. He was definitely out of sorts. Shrugging it off, he walked with the other boy up the rest of the way to Hagrid's hut and joined their classmates: half Slytherin, half Gryffindor. He and Seamus headed over to Ron and Hermione; Harry struck up a conversation with them while Seamus stayed fairly isolated, staring desolately out at the other students.

His eyes seemed to automatically stray to Blaise, who was curled around Pansy Parkinson, holding her to his chest. At the sight, Seamus had the abrupt urge to scratch at the bandages on his arms until his fingernails broke through and tore the wounded skin underneath.

His fingers were rising towards his forearm when Blaise suddenly looked up and locked eyes with him. Even from far away, Seamus could see them glittering– knowingly.

He knew exactly what he was doing to him, and he was enjoying it.

The fact hurt almost as much as the sight that greeted him next– Blaise, taking Pansy's face into his hands, and pressing a gentle kiss to her lips.

Seamus, with difficulty, tore his eyes away; his fingers instinctively reached up his sleeve and _scratched _viciously for a few long, satisfying moments. He felt the skin tear like weak fabric underneath his fingertips and relished in the swell of physical pain that overcame him, pushing at the emotional agony currently making a home of his heart.

"Alright, kids, time fer class to start!" Hagrid hollered, gesturing for everyone to move closer.

Seamus reluctantly pulled his fingers out from his sleeve, wincing when he noticed the blood on his skin, and quickly wiped it off on his pants before walking towards his teacher.

"Today we're goin' into the forest," Hagrid said, conspiratorially. There were a few poorly disguised gasps; Harry felt a pang of...something...wash through him as he remembered Draco's quite vocal fear about the Forbidden Forest and the creatures lurking within, and had to force his mind away from the blonde to focus upon the situation at hand.

"Is that safe?" he heard Pansy ask distastefully. "I don't think Dumble-dork would be too happy about this lesson plan."

"That's Professor Dumbledore to ye," Hagrid admonished, waving a giant finger at her in scolding, causing the Slytherin girl to roll her eyes. "And he's already approved it. So all of ye get off yer bottoms and let's ge' goin'!"

Everyone stood, most groaning a bit, and they began making their way into the ominous woods. Ron, Hermione, and Harry walked ahead, talking animatedly; Seamus hung back, ignoring Dean's concerned glances from beside him and not making any move to start a conversation.

They came to a stop after a few long minutes, and Hagrid began to speak about his newest creature that he was going to show them. Seamus completely zoned out during his speech, staring blankly ahead and absently itching at his tender, dripping arm.

He had no idea how much time had passed when he suddenly heard someone shout his name, and then he had about two seconds to prepare before a large body smashed into his own, sending him and the other person careening to the ground.

He gave a loud cry of pain as his arm was jostled and banged in the flurry of limbs, then began writhing earnestly in fear; what the hell was going on? All he could hear was screaming and what sounded like hooves pounding against the ground– he felt himself beginning to panic; he felt like no air was getting into his lungs–

"Shh, calm down," a familiar voice whispered in his ear, just barely audible amidst the chaos. "I've got you, Seamus."

At the realization that it was Blaise, Seamus felt himself immediately begin to calm; his arms, of their own accord, wrapped around the other boy's neck and clutched tight. "B-Blaise," he whispered, shaking like a newborn foal. "Wh–what's happening?"

Blaise leaned over him, protectively, lifting the boy's head and pressing it into his shoulder in an instinctive gesture of comfort. "Everything's alright," he murmured gently. "Just stay still for a moment."

Seamus felt like his heart was piecing itself back together; being pressed into the other boy's warm chest was the most soothing of balms he could have asked for; it was everything he'd needed so desperately for the past few days. He felt...safe; cared for; his whole body was tingling, thrumming with warmth. At that moment he had a startling thought, so poignant in its clarity that it made his breath catch a little in his throat.

_Why was I trying to deny this?_

Blaise looked down at him, then, as if he'd somehow sensed the mental shift. He gave him a tiny little smile, and Seamus felt his heart flutter in his chest.

He wanted to kiss him, right then and there.

_Him. _A boy.

And for some reason, with Blaise leaning over him, eyes glittering and lips hovering so close to his own, the thought didn't disturb him at all.

"Seamus!" someone called, breaking them both out of their reveries.

He could have cursed.

His heart sunk to his feet as Blaise practically threw himself off of him, schooling his face into indifference as reality came crashing back with sickening clarity. Their schoolmates came rushing over to them, looking disheveled and frightened, and Blaise gruffly declared, "Finnigan's fine" before walking over to a fretting Pansy, leaving Seamus alone and cold on the wet ground.

Harry hurried over to Seamus to help him up; the other boy was staring off at Blaise, eyes shining with _pain. _Harry felt his heart breaking for his friend, even without knowing the full situation. He knelt down next to him and wrapped an arm around Seamus' shoulders and pulled him up so that he was sitting. "Are you alright?" he asked gently.

In the face of such genuine kindness, Seamus had the absolutely absurd urge to cry. Instead, he swallowed thickly, and croaked, "Yeah, m'fine."

"Merlin, Seamus, I thought you were a goner!" Ron exclaimed, hurrying over to them with a concerned look on his face. "Are you okay!?"

_Why can't Blaise look at me like that?_

"What...what _happened_?" Seamus asked, getting shakily to his feet. "I-I don't– all I can remember is getting tackled to the ground."

Ron's eyes narrowed. "Yeah, Zabini was a bit rougher than he needed to be."

"Ron!" Harry exclaimed in alarmed admonishment. "He practically saved Seamus's life!"

"Well yeah but he could have been a little bit less–

"Could someone _please _just tell me what's going on?" Seamus exasperatedly interrupted.

Hermione came up beside him and patted his arm disarmingly. "There was a stampede of centaurs. We all heard them coming and ducked under cover in time– I guess no one noticed that you hadn't come with." Her eyes shone with regret. "Well, no one but Zabini. He ran out and got you out of the way just in time."

His heart did a funny little bounce in his chest and warm hope flooded through his veins. _See? He still cares, Seamus. He _saved_ you._

The thought shouldn't have made him feel as if his life had been breathed back into him, but it did and he couldn't help it. He looked up, desperately relieved eyes searching for the other boy– and was thoroughly dismayed to see Pansy fawning all over him, and he returning the affections.

Bitterly, Seamus wondered what the hell the other boy was trying to pull– Seamus had seen want in his eyes. He'd _seen _it. Hadn't he...?

Cruel memories from the day before began to play in his head, repeating Blaise's sharp words and cold voice over and over; within moments, it felt as if all of his conviction had unraveled. He felt just as awful as he had before.

His fingers started to crawl upward towards his sleeve.

"Seamus?" Harry called. "Hello, in there!"

"Wha? Sorry," Seamus stammered, turning to face his concerned friend. "I'm fine, Harry, really. Just zoned out for a minute."

"I think you should go to the infirmary," Hermione said, looking equally worried as her brunette friend.

"Honestly, guys, I'm alright," Seamus stubbornly insisted.

"Seamus!" Hagrid blubbered, running over to him and crushing him in a hug. "M' so sorry! Ah–ah–had no idea tha' they would react like tha'!"

"It's alright, Hagrid, really!" Seamus choked, immediately trying to wriggle out of the iron grip; his injured arms were being pressed uncomfortably to his sides– and he was pretty sure he could feel blood seeping into the clothing covering his torso. He must've opened them more violently then he'd thought.

"Do ye–do ye need to go see Pomfrey?" Hagrid asked rapidly, grabbing him by the shoulders and pushing him back so he could peer into his face. "Ye can leave class early, I don' mind!"

"Class!?" someone snorted derisively from behind them; Hagrid moved and Seamus could see Pansy standing there with her hands on her hips, staring at Hagrid incredulously. "You want to continue _class _after that debacle?"

Hagrid looked like a kicked puppy. "Well, I...ah suppose not. Everyone _is_ probably a lil shook up." His voice was devastated, though, as he admitted, "I ha' such a good lesson, too..."

Harry patted his arm consolingly. "It's alright, Hagrid. I'm sure you'll get to show us another day."

Pansy snorted again, about to offer a nasty retort when Blaise put a hand on her arm.

"Don't, Pans," he said gently, making Seamus wince at the endearment. "It's not worth it."

She huffed and turned away; Blaise went to do the same, but just before he did, he caught Seamus' eyes for the briefest of moments–

And Seamus desperately wished he hadn't.

Ice cold. That was the only way to describe them.

It was like a punch to the stomach; a physical blow.

_He was just messing with you. He doesn't care at all, Finnigan. It's your fault– you fucked it up, and now you've lost him._

As they all walked back to the castle, all Seamus could think about was finding something sharp, and fast.

COMINGCLEAN

The first sensation Draco felt as the walls of the Manor spun into place around him was the snap of his kneecap breaking under a the force of vicious blow from his father's cane.

He went down like a ragdoll, all twisted limbs and tortured screams; it hurt more than anything he'd ever felt, and he hated himself for being weak enough to let Lucius see such pathetic vulnerability.

_He's seen you scream many times before, Draco, _his mind cruelly reminded him. _It's nothing new._

Even so, the tears dripping down his nose felt like failure.

"Get up, Draco," Lucius demanded, circling his fallen son like a stalking predator. "Narcissa will be home soon and you know how she doesn't like to see you look disheveled."

Draco positively _shook _with pain, but, with difficulty, stumbled onto his good leg, keeping his bad one hanging awkwardly below him, not quite touching the ground, with little to no weight pressed on it. It didn't make the pain any less intense.

"Stand like a man, Draco," Lucius admonished sharply, cane tapping against the ground in warning. "You're a Malfoy, so act accordingly."

_I can't, _was on the tip of his tongue, but Draco knew it'd be so much worse if he admitted to that. So, he braced himself, tears streaming down his face, and stepped onto his injured leg.

There was too much pain; his vision blacked out, and he thought that somewhere in the distance he could hear ragged sobs. He _really_ hoped they weren't his.

The cane that swiped across his face and split his lip told him otherwise.

"Keep quiet, son," Lucius said coolly. "You will take your punishment with dignity and poise. There will be no more tears; is that understood?"

Draco nodded, hiccupping, feeling blood from his lip dribble down his chin and trickle down his neck. "Yes, sir," he whispered.

"Now," the elder Malfoy transitioned briskly. "We will make our way down to the dungeons, where you will be staying for the remainder of the week."

Draco looked at him with quivering lips and incredulous, pain-filled eyes.

Three stories of stairs. There was no way.

The expression on his father's face was one of distinct warning; and of deep anticipation. It told him, _You will do it, or I will make you regret it._

Draco felt sick. His fingers, of their own accord, inched towards Harry's gift, stuffed in his pocket.

"Well, go on," Lucius snapped impatiently, striking Draco's lower back with the end of the cane, causing him to stumble forward and _wail _with the pain of landing on his bad leg. "Grab your belongings and follow me downstairs."

Draco gasped in air and just barely kept the tears from falling, then obediently turned towards his large travel bag and lifted his wand to levitate it behind him.

He should've known it wasn't going to be nearly that easy.

Lucius plucked Draco's wand from his hand and slapped him across the face. "You will carry your belongings, like a Muggle," he spit, resentment flaring in his cool eyes. "Because that's how_ filthy_ you are, sleeping with other boys."

_Ah, yes. And now we get to the reason why I'm here. _"Yes, sir," was all Draco said, even though he wanted to scream that he'd grown to need Harry like he needed air– _where the hell did that come from?– _and that he wasn't the least bit regretful of his actions. He figured Lucius wouldn't want to hear either of those sentiments at this point.

So Draco clamped his mouth shut and grit his teeth before lifting the trunk; almost immediately his bad knee buckled underneath him and he landed on the ground hard with a cry of pain. He braced himself for a reprimanding hit and wasn't disappointed; his head snapped to the side as he was backhanded, cheek slitting open by way of his father's Malfoy ring and pain exploding through the area.

"You're disappointing me even further, Draco," Lucius said disdainfully. "All I asked was for you to carry your things downstairs. I didn't think that required a production."

Draco wanted to _snarl_ that his fucking _knee _was _broken_– but he didn't dare, and bit his lip against the pained anger-driven words, forcing himself to stand once again, trunk hefted, with difficulty, to his chest.

"Good," Lucius said, but his voice had lost none of its chill. "Follow me. If you stop at any point or are not able to keep up, you will regret it."

Draco didn't doubt those words. He did, however, doubt his ability to obey them. The pain was absolutely excruciating; every second with just an ounce of weight put upon his leg felt like the sharpest of agonies.

And now he was expected to walk down three flights of stairs, with the added weight of a trunk?

He thought he'd sooner pass out from pain then make it through the ordeal.

Turns out, he'd underestimated himself. Or, perhaps, he'd underestimated the power of his father's threats– he had a feeling, had he not made it down the stairs, the punishment would have been far worse than he could have imagined– and that fact drove him to make it through the horrifying pain of it all.

He stepped down the final stair and tumbled to the ground, exhaustion and thrumming agony making him unable to stand any longer.

It had been _excruciating, _but he'd made it– _and_, through vicious gnawing his already split lip, had somehow managed to hold the tears at bay as well.

He thought, if he'd been conscious enough to see, his father would have had a vaguely pleased expression on his face.

As sick as it was, the thought made him flush with pride.

"Draco," Lucius said sharply, knocking him out of his reverie. "Did you not hear me?"

"I...apologize, sir," Draco panted. "My mind went elsewhere for a moment."

"Don't let it happen again," his father warned, cane tapping the ground in a promise of punishment. Draco nodded rapidly and gave Lucius his full attention. "Now, son," the tall, blonde man began again. "I'm going to tell you the lesson plan for this week. Are you listening?"

Draco nodded raptly, eyes wide in respectful attention.

"Today," he said briskly, beginning to stalk around Draco like a predator. "You will learn the lesson of humiliation. You will experience all of the embarrassment that you have put our family through with your reckless actions."

"Yes, sir," Draco answered obediently, bowing his head once in respect.

"Tomorrow," he continued, voice coldly amused at the prospect of it. "You will learn regret. I assure you, by the end of the day, you will hold sincere remorse for your disgusting behavior."

Draco swallowed thickly, fear making his palms sweat. "Yes, sir."

Lucius allowed a small pause for the boy's imagination to play with that one.

"The day after," he eventually drawled, eyes glittering. "You will learn loyalty. Never again will you tempt the ties you have to this family and to the Dark Lord."

Draco shuddered a little. "Yes, sir."

"The next day–

"Lucius!" interrupted Narcissa's worried crow from the top of the stairs.

"Mum," Draco whispered, so automatic it was nearly involuntary; he loved his mother desperately, and feared for her whenever she confronted his father– he was no gentler with her than he was with his son.

"Draco," Narcissa greeted, vague surprise shown on her face. "Are you–

Lucius whirled around before Narcissa could continue, glaring lividly. "Narcissa, _what _have I said about coming down here without permission?"

"I-I apologize, Lucius," Narcissa said, anxiously; it always surprised Draco to see the normally stoic woman so broken down by his father. "I had good reason."

Lucius nearly growled. "No reason is good enough to defy my rules, Narcissa."

The female Malfoy flinched, visibly regretting her words. "Excuse my I-I just meant that– there are urgent matters you might wish to know of."

Lucius glanced to Draco, then dismissed him easily. "So, speak, then."

"The guests are arriving," she said rapidly, obviously relieved– her words were like water rushing through a dam. "They're asking for you. I did not want to interrupt you, but they were beginning to get rather irritated."

"What?" Lucius hissed, eyes narrowing. "They weren't supposed to get here until much later!"

Narcissa cowered. "I did not expect it either, L-Lucius. They decided on their own accord to come early– they said that they wanted to spend more time with us, since it has been a long while. I could not turn them away, it would have been very imprudent of me."

Lucius' nose crinkled in disdain and suspicion. "They want something from us." He sighed explosively, looking agitated. "Well, no matter. I will come up and greet them."

He turned to Draco and gave him a warning glare. "You will not move from that spot, is that understood?"

Draco nodded passively and watched as his father headed up the stairs; when he passed Narcissa, she shivered, and then he was gone.

"Mum," Draco said hoarsely, wanting, _needing _some sort of gentle human contact.

But she was still frightened– she glanced rapidly behind and around herself like a spooked animal and whispered, "I'm sorry, love, but I have to go be a good hostess. Lucius does not tolerate rudeness, you know that."

Draco, absurdly, felt like he was going to cry. "Mum," was all he could seem to say.

She looked pained. "Be careful, my sweet."

_Please be careful, Malfoy, _Draco was reminded of Harry's scribbled words.

He swallowed, throat bobbing, and gave her something akin to a pleading look. But she was already hardened; her mask had been slipped back into place– she looked cool and indifferent as she turned on her heel and went to join Lucius.

_Welp, this is it, Draco. Welcome to Hell._

_--------_

_**AN:** _Things are gonna get a little heavy from here on out, folks. But don't worry, it'll get better! Read n review!


	7. Hopes

**AN:** Whew, I'm so sorry guys. I know this was kind of a late update, but I've had exams all week and it's been pretty stressful Anyway, I don't know what to say about this chapter.. it's long, and I feel like it rambles at times.. I don't know, I'm not really happy with it. But, eh, I'll let you guys decide. Hope ya enjoy!

**Pairings:** Harry/Draco, Blaise/Seamus

**Warnings:** Violence, cursing

**Disclaimer:** Not mine

---------------

_**Up the stairs...**_

"Good evening, esteemed ladies and gentlemen," Lucius greeted, voice booming and powerful.

All heads turned to gaze at him in grudging admiration and respect; although some expressions were twisted nastily in distaste– obviously the product of Draco's recent scandal.

"I hope you are all having a splendid time so far," he continued pleasantly, ignoring the small show of resentment. "And I apologize for my tardiness. I did not expect you all to arrive so impeccably on time."

"Fashionably early," someone chuckled, good-naturedly.

Lucius gave him a false smile. "Yes. Well, to make up for my rudeness, I do have a treat for you all tonight."

Some raised their eyebrows in curiosity– rewards were always appreciated in the high social class.

"I'm sure most of you have seen the atrocity of an image currently circulating the Wizarding world by way of the Daily Prophet," Lucius began, regret and resentment tainting his voice. He allowed a moment for the equally angry group of pure-bloods to grumble and express similar feelings of distaste, then continued loudly, "But, I can assure you that I am very seriously going about righting this mistake."

The ominous note to his voice made a chill settle over the room, along with a thick, anticipating silence.

"My son is settling into the Manor as we speak," Lucius revealed, gesturing grandiosely to the cellar doors from which he'd come. There was a roar of protest at the presence of such 'filth' in their proximity, and Lucius quickly quieted them with,

"And I would like for you to assist his punishment."

People blinked. "What?" someone asked from near the back.

"Well, I can see no persons more fit for the task," Lucius drawled. "He needs to be taught a lesson, and, from your reactions to any mentions of him thus far, I'm under the impression that you would appreciate the chance to make him see the error of his ways."

There was a small moment of silence.

"What do you wish us to do, Lucius?" Goyle's father finally spoke up, eyes glittering in poorly disguised enthusiasm.

Lucius looked out at them, saw the expressions once twisted in disgust now alight with anticipation, and felt smugness creep into his veins. "Well," he began expansively. "Tonight, I am teaching him a lesson about tarnishing the family name. He needs to feel the poignancy of what humiliation he brought upon us."

People hummed in agreement.

"So," the elder Malfoy continued, "I have decided to provide you all with a rather unusual servant for the remainder of this dinner party. Instead of a house-elf, Draco Malfoy will be tending to your every need."

A startled, but pleased, murmur ghosted through the crowd.

"I encourage you to treat him the same as you would a common house-elf," Lucius went on, voice taking on a darker shade. "I want you to make him feel every ounce of hatred and disgust you hold for him and his most recent actions_._ Make him feel as humiliated as you must know that I am feeling right now. In short, do your worst, my friends. Teach him the lesson he so desperately needs to know the err of his ways."

It was like he'd laid out a plate of food in front of starving men– all of the men and women had identical looks of deviousness on their faces.

Here was an opportunity to be completely and utterly immoral, and with the added benefit of knowing they had permission and that word of their discrepancies would not be spread around, all of them were jumping at the bit.

"Well, if there are no further questions, I will go get your servant and we can began the meal," Lucius said briskly, looking around the room to see if anyone wanted to speak up. "Alright then," he said when no one cut in. "Please excuse me for a moment. My wife will attend to you while I get Draco. Thank you for your time."

He very gracefully exited, leaving a riveted, excited audience in his wake.

COMINGCLEAN

Seamus wiped at the tears dripping down his nose and wondered, for the third time, why the hell he was crying.

After Care of Magical Creatures, he'd felt this poignant _need _to just hurt something; so he'd come up to the Gryffinder bathroom, locked himself in one of the stalls, and scratched his torn apart arms until blood and skin were coating his fingers and scarlet liquid was dribbling down his wrists.

And now he felt sick, staring down at the small red puddle that was slowly forming on the ground below him, and feeling the itchiness of drying blood on his extremities.

_Why is this happening to me? _he kept thinking, wishing more intensely than ever before that he'd never met Blaise, that he'd never been confronted with all of these...feelings. He felt like he was on a roller coaster ride; his stomach kept dropping to his feet with each new thought about the other boy; his heart would pound and he would feel light-headed– it was all just _too much. _He'd never felt this way about _anyone_– boy or girl.

And now, after he'd finally figured out what was going on inside of him, Blaise hated his guts.

It shouldn't have hurt so much, but it did. It was like there was a rigid fist of pain throbbing inside his chest, making him short of breath and weepy– it took him over and made him itch to just...combat it, somehow. Make it stop. Hurting himself seemed to be the only viable option; it made him, for just a moment, forget about everything else– he ceased to be Seamus, and instead became merely flesh– skin and bone and tissue, not gay, not straight, _nothing but flesh._ Flesh that could tear underneath his fingernails– tear and bleed out every last thought, fear; every last ounce of pain.

Flesh that didn't _long _for Blaise's touch; flesh that didn't feel like it was crumpling at the thought of losing him. Just...flesh.

COMINGCLEAN

Harry had spent the last hour turning the counterpart to Draco's gift over and over in his hands, some part of him just _screaming _to write something–anything– if only to make sure the other boy was still _alive. _It was killing him to just _sit _here and wait, not knowing anything, only being left with his imagination to come up with all sorts of horrible and gruesome situations.

It was...odd...recognizing the emotion he was feeling– worry. Poignant, intense, light-headed, heart-racing _worry. _

He hadn't expected it at all– in fact, never in his life had he thought he'd be sitting here, like some abandoned lover, waiting and pining over his arch enemy– but here he was, staring at the paper in front of him, internally warring over whether or not to check on Draco Malfoy's well-being.

Strangely, the realization of his feelings didn't really worry him as much as it should have. In fact, he paid it little to no mind– he was too busy worrying over Draco to be fretting over his own confusing emotions.

He sighed, staring at the paper and imagining what the consequences of writing would be. Draco could get caught looking at it, and get in further trouble; he could get angry at the fact that Harry was checking up on him instead of letting him decide when he needed help; it could just end up in disaster... _but, _it would ease Harry's anxiety, at least for a little while. And who knows, maybe Draco would appreciate the concern.

_Psh. Yeah right, _snorted a voice inside his head.

He sighed again, and abruptly decided to just do it– what the hell. He grabbed a quill from his backpack and wrote a quick, sloppy message:

_Let me know you're alive, Malfoy. I'm worr– I have a bad feeling._

_-Harry_

COMINGCLEAN

"Draco," Lucius said sharply as soon as the cellar door closed behind him.

His son jumped, visibly startled, eyes hazy with pain and exhaustion as they watched him coming down the stairs.

"Your first lesson begins right now," the taller Malfoy revealed, coming to a stop and gesturing for Draco to stand up in front of him. "Get up."

The blonde bit his butchered lip for the millionth time that night and wondered if he _could _obey the order; he didn't think so– not after letting his knee sit idle for the past ten minutes. It would be brutal, standing on it once again.

Apparently he'd waited too long to act; quick as lightening, Lucius reached out, grabbed Draco by the hair, and hauled him up to his feet by the roots.

Caught of guard by the sudden pain and the movement, Draco couldn't help the startled cry that came out as a pathetic yelp and turned into an agonized wail when his weight landed on his bad leg.

Lucius ignored the noises, snarling at him with teeth gnashing, "I have people waiting for my return, Draco, and I will not be late on account of your weakness!"

Draco nodded rapidly, throat bobbing in instinctive fear at the anger and the close proximity of the other man. "I-I apologize, sir! It will not happen again."

"No, it won't," Lucius said darkly, rattling Draco briefly by the hair, causing his neck to pop sickeningly, before letting him go and watching him sway uncertainly on his injured limb.

"Now," the elder Malfoy said briskly, all anger melting into cool indifference. "As I was saying, your first lesson begins tonight." He walked close to his son, so he could peer into the frightened grey eyes. "Humiliation, Draco," he whispered. "That is where we start. I want you to _feel _all of the horrid embarrassment I was put through when that disgusting deformity of an image was put on the front pages of every gossip magazine and printed material in the wizarding world. I want you to know what it was like for me to feel as if I had lost every ounce of respect this family has worked so hard to achieve."

Draco gulped. "Yes, sir," he obediently murmured.

"So," Lucius continued, reaching out an absent hand to press harshly against a bloody slit in Draco's cheek caused by one of his rings. "I have appointed you as the resident house elf for tonight's festivities."

He paused, letting it sink in, reveling in the instinctive look of condescension that briefly passed his son's pained face– yes, Lucius had succeeded in instilling within the blonde's mind the basic principles of who was inferior and superior in this world. A flush of narcissistic pride rose up in his veins.

"You will do all that is asked of you and take every reprimand and punishment like a house-elf would," he continued, voice bordering upon deranged in its amusement. "You will see to their every need without question or complaint. And," he paused, eyes glittering with intensity. "You will wear this."

He lifted his wand and '_Accio'd_' something– and then Draco felt his stomach absolutely _plummet _to his feet.

In his father's hands was a costume.

A _fairy _costume.

Bright, frilly fabric; a corset bodice, a tutu, stockings, and huge, detailed fairy wings.

"I'm _not _wearing that," was out of his mouth before he could even think about stopping the automatic words. "It's–

"Humiliating?" Lucius snapped, tone dripping with malicious warning. "Disgusting? Embarrassing? _Appalling?_"

With every word he stepped once step closer to Draco, forcing backwards against the back wall of the cellar.

Draco's lips trembled. "Y-yes," he whispered, realizing his mistake and regretting it immensely.

"Then perhaps it will be what will make you feel even an _ounce _of the humiliation I have been subject to as a result of your deviancy!" his father snarled, shoving the costume into his stomach in a powerful punch that sent the air exploding out of his lungs, knocking him breathless. "So you _will _put it on._ Now!_"

Draco bent at the waist, choking, and barely managed to catch the pieces of the costume that were slipping through his shaking fingers; the blow to the gut had _hurt._

Once again he'd waited too long– one hand wrapped around his neck and hauled him off the ground; he coughed and spluttered, weakly scrabbling at the offending fingers on his throat.

"What is with these dramatic productions?" Lucius growled, shaking him with every word. "When I tell you to do something, I expect you to do it _immediately_, Draco. I will not tolerate such rudeness from my own son!"

"I'm–I'm sorry," Draco gasped, vision tunneling in and neck _throbbing _with pain. "Please– _please_, just let me go– I–Ican'tbreatheplease–

Lucius held him for a moment longer, then let him drop, looking down his nose at the disgusting sight of his son crumpling to the ground, sobbing breaths sounding extraordinarily loud in the quiet, small room.

There was a long pause.

"Are you making me wait _again_, Draco?" Lucius asked in warning, raising an eyebrow, and pulling a foot back in preparation to kick the boy if he didn't move immediately.

Draco saw the limb move out of the corner of his eye and jumped to action as if he'd been shocked; he leapt to his feet, barely aware of the small, pained cries that were _not _coming out of his mouth, stripped and began to get redressed, tearing the stockings of the costume in his haste and nearly tripping over the tutu as he ripped it up his trembling legs.

Lucius watched approvingly. "Good, son," he praised. "That's all I was asking of you. Why must you make me take such drastic measures to ensure you behave correctly when you could just do it on your own?"

"I d-don't know, s-sir," the younger Malfoy answered, pulling the wings across his back. "It will n-not happen again."

"I know it won't," Lucius said, very seriously; Draco heard the clear warning behind those words, and resolved to obey his commands as quickly as possible from then on.

Draco gulped and straightened his tutu, trying to maintain some sort of dignity; then, finally, fully dressed, he stood in front of his father, feeling more embarrassed than he ever had in his entire life.

Lucius let his eyes rove over his son's humiliating state of dress, allowing– _wanting_– Draco to see his pertinent disgust, to feel the deepest sense of worthlessness and mortification. "It seems you are ready for your task," he eventually murmured, smirking silkily. "You will follow me upstairs and begin as soon as we arrive. If I see or hear of any evidence of resistance, you will regret it."

He took a few steps closer, peering into his son's eyes, seeing the fear and the distaste shining there. "I do not want to see any show of weakness from you tonight, Draco," he warned. "You will handle this predicament with poise and pride, as I had to these past few horrendous days. Is that understood?"

Draco nodded, trembling from the pain emanating from his leg and the fear of the upcoming few hours. He had no idea what was awaiting him up those stairs– anger, hate, disgust? All three? It was terrifying, and he didn't know how he was going to get through it with a broken knee and his father breathing down his neck. "Yes, sir," he said anyway, as confidently as he could manage.

"Very well," Lucius said, nodding. "Let us be off, then."

Draco nodded and waited shakily for his father to start climbing the long, narrow staircase, then began the trek himself, happy that Lucius couldn't see him leaning heavily against the railings to get himself up each step.

It was just before his father opened the door that it actually hit him, what was about to happen.

He stopped, swallowing convulsively, looking down at himself, at the garish pink fabric stretched tight over his skin; and at that moment, Draco Malfoy wanted more poignantly than ever before to just–just get _away _from all this.

Be _free_.

The thought terrified him almost as much as it thrilled him. Never before had he thought something so...blasphemous.

Abruptly, he thought of Harry, and his gift. Very quietly and cautiously, he reached into his pocket, and pulled it out; the message written upon it made his heart thud with some unknown emotion.

All he had to do was call for help, and he could get out of this mess. For good.

His eyes lit with hope; and the moment after he felt it, Lucius whirled around and swatted him across the face with his cane. Draco's already busted lip cried out in agony and he pressed his hand over it, feeling blood drip down his knuckles.

"Draco," his father said, voice nearly shaking in anger. Draco looked up at him and his breath caught in fear; the elder Malfoy's eyes were glittering dangerously; at that moment, Draco was absolutely certain that his father had somehow realized what he'd been thinking.

Seconds later, when Draco felt himself free-falling down the stairs after a forceful shove from his father, and he knew his father had known. As he crashed into the solid concrete, one thought flew through his mind:

_No, Draco._ _You'll _never_ be free._

COMINGCLEAN

Blaise was desperately _trying _to convince himself that seeing Seamus looking like such a train wreck wasn't making his stomach twist uncomfortably and his heart lurch in his chest.

It wasn't working very well.

It was dinner time in the Great Hall, and the Irish boy had just walked in moments ago, looking like death itself. Even from all the way over at the Slytherin table, Blaise could see his sluggishness; the uneven pallor of his skin; and the stark redness of his eyes. He looked...terrible.

And Blaise felt like an arse.

He _shouldn't_, though. He forced himself, for the millionth time that day, to remember the harsh words and punches that the other boy had thrown at him barely 48 hours before; tried to drum up the same anger and resentment– but, Merlin, in the face of such obvious heartbreak–_ what else could it be_?– he just couldn't seem to muster it.

"Blaise, darling?" Pansy's honey-sweet voice interrupted his thoughts, sounding falsely concerned and more subtly irritated. "Are you alright?"

Blaise fought the urge to remove her hand from his thigh and bit out rather harshly, "Nothing, Pansy. I'm fine."

"Uh oh, trouble in paradise?" Marcus jeered, peering at them closely in amusement.

"No," Pansy snarled, glaring at the other boy and, without further ado, pulling Blaise down for a forceful kiss. She pried his lips open with his tongue and forced her way down his throat, nearly climbing onto his lap in the process. After a few long moments, she pulled away with a loud 'pop' and barked, "We are just _fine, _thank you very much."

There was a stunned silence, and then everyone simply snickered and went back to their food.

Blaise, personally, felt like he was going to be sick; and then he looked back up to the Gryffindor table and his eyes met with Seamus', and he felt his stomach sink to his feet. There was complete and utter _pain_ radiating from the familiar irises; he stared at them for a moment before the Irish boy looked away and got to his feet, nearly fleeing from the Great Hall in his haste to escape.

Blaise didn't even have to think about it. He muttered some excuse to Pansy and walked off after Seamus, heart racing oddly in his chest as he fought the urge to run and give chase– he didn't want to raise any suspicions. As soon as he was outside the Great Hall, though, he began to walk rapidly, roving his eyes over the hallways in front of him, searching for Seamus' figure. He caught sight of the boy skirting around the corner and picked up his pace even further to follow him.

As he rounded the corner himself, he was dismayed to see an empty hallway; but then he heard the sound of a door slamming, and immediately rushed over to where the noise had come. He came to a stop in front of the classroom, feeling oddly nervous as he prepared to step inside.

As he pulled the door open, though, the sight that greeted him erased all nervousness and replaced it with a fervent need to _protect _and_ comfort_.

Seamus was turned away from him, bent at the waist, shaking horribly and heaving with sobs.

"Merlin, Seamus," he breathed, catching the crying boy by the arm and pulling him towards his chest. "Come here, it's alright."

"Wha–?" the Irish boy gasped through the tears, startled and disoriented. "_Blaise_?"

Blaise wrapped strong arms around the other boy and squeezed, pressing his nose into the short brown hair and inhaling deeply. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "Merlin, I'm sorry, please don't cry."

Seamus, who had just ripped open the tender wounds on his arm, felt terrified and overwhelmed; there was surely blood dripping down his skin, but Blaise felt so warm around him and he couldn't help lifting his own arms to return the embrace. "Blaise," he practically whimpered, nosing at the soft skin of the other boy's neck, now wet with his own tears. "Why are you–"

"Because I," he stopped abruptly, swallowing convulsively. Had he _really_ almost said that? "I, er,... fuck, I care about you, Seamus," he amended, almost harshly, wanting simultaneously to push away his true feelings and reveal them. "I don't want to see you hurt."

Seamus couldn't ignore the warm flush that filled his veins; he felt the same way, and couldn't deny it. "I-I know," was all he managed. Then, barely a whisper, "M-me too."

Blaise sighed, ghosting his fingers down the boy's back in a gesture of comfort and affection. "I didn't want to kiss her," he said after a moment, voice gentle.

Seamus swallowed. "I didn't want to h-hurt you, the other day," he replied, just as softly.

"Yes you did," Blaise countered, but his voice wasn't accusatory. "But I...understand, I think. When you were hitting me– it wasn't me you were imagining, was it? It was your feelingsfor me that you were trying to push away. Right?"

After a moment, Seamus nodded. "Yeah," he murmured. "How did you know?"

Blaise smirked a little and pressed a kiss to the top of the boy's head. "I was confused once too, you know," he said softly. "And scared, and angry, and disgusted. Just like you are right now."

Seamus pulled back a little so he could look at the other boy and peer into his honest eyes. "Really?" he asked, voice strangely vulnerable and laced with a definite note of hope. "How did you...you know, deal with it?"

Blaise smirk slowly stretched into an enigmatic smile. "Well, I certainly didn't go beating people up," he calmly remarked, ignoring Seamus' wince. "But I was definitely in denial, and because of that I hurt people in a different way; not physically, but mentally. I slept with every girl I could, trying to erase the feelings I was having– and when it never worked out, I just up and left them. I broke a lot of hearts during that period of my life."

"S-so you couldn't, you know, have sex w-with a girl?" Seamus asked, latching onto the one thing that had pricked his overwhelmed conscience; he desperately wanted Blaise to answer 'of course I could, it was bloody fantastic!' and tried not to sound too hopeful.

Blaise shrugged. "It was fine. Nothing special. I enjoyed it, just not as much as I enjoyed being with men."

The answer and the blase tone in which it was delivered made Seamus blanch; it was still ridiculously difficult to even _consider _the fact that he might–that he _was _having sex with another boy, and developing feelings for him to boot. He admired the way Blaise could face it so easily, and wondered if he'd ever get to that point.

"What are you thinking?" Blaise prodded, concerned at the other's sudden silence.

Seamus shook his head minutely, as if he were trying to toss out his thoughts. "Nothing," he muttered. He bit his lip, debating upon whether he should continue speaking. "Just...I don't know. I guess I just don't understand how you're–how you're okay with it _now_."

"Oh, I'm not, not by any means," Blaise was quick to correct. Seamus looked confused, so he continued, "Trust me, with a family like mine, homosexuality was–_is_– strictly prohibited– blood lines, and all that. And I hated the fact– well, I _still _hate the fact– that I'm one of the people who my parents despise the most."

"Do they know?" Seamus asked, voice hushed and vaguely frightened.

Blaise nodded shortly. "They found out just a few days ago. Actually, the day you beat me up. One of my conquests from last year decided that his loyalty to our promise to keep it quiet was not as important as his loyalty to his ego. He told my parents that I'd forced myself on him."

"No," Seamus breathed, tensing in fear and a surprising surge of anger at whoever had done it. "And they believed him?"

"It didn't matter," Blaise said, shrugging. "Whether it was mutual or forced upon him, I'd still taken part in a distasteful activity."

"So were they mad?" Seamus prompted, secretly imagining his own fate, should he ever–ever _tell_ someone about...about this.

"Of course they bloody were," Blaise said, harsher than he meant to. Seamus flinched, and Blaise was quick to pull him close in apology.

Seamus breathed in the other boy's scent in a long sigh, wishing that this didn't feel so bloody _right. _"I didn't mean to pry," he murmured into the strong chest. "You don't have to tell me all this if you don't want to."

"No, no, it's okay," Blaise reassured. "It's just...still a little fresh, if you know what I mean. The emotions are still pretty... intense right now."

Seamus nodded, even though he didn't quite understand. "Okay," he replied.

"Yes, they were very angry," Blaise continued in a calmer tone after a moment, breath gusting over Seamus' ear. His mouth turned downwards in a scowl. "That's what this whole Pansy thing is about. My parents demanded I begin a sort of pre-arranged marriage with her, so I could 'get all this deviancy out of my system.'"

Seamus swallowed, stunned realization making his throat swelling to nearly twice its size. "So, so you don't–don't actually_–_

"No, Seam, I don't like her," Blaise smoothly cut over the other boy's anxious stammering, noise crinkling in disgust at the thought. "Can't stand the bitch, actually."

Seamus shouldn't have felt such a huge rush of relief, but he did. He subconsciously pulled himself closer to the other boy, hair nuzzling Blaise's chin. "Good," he breathed.

Blaise hummed in contentment at the closeness and rocked them back and forth for a few long moments, murmuring absently, "This is nice."

Seamus merely nodded, feeling oddly tongue-tied.

Blaise smirked, amused at the sudden shyness; and after that they stayed silent for a long while– eventually, Seamus was drowsing against Blaise's chest, feeling calmer and more safe than he'd ever felt, and Blaise was content merely to hold him, offering his comfort and strength.

"Seamus, what is it that you want?" Blaise finally asked, voice lilting in gentle curiosity.

"W-what do you mean?" the Irish boy asked, blinking against the soft skin of the other's neck.

"I mean... what are we? What is this?" Blaise pulled back a little to gesture in between them.

Seamus bit his lip, and then he did something instinctive– he leaned forward and kissed the other boy, pressing their mouths solidly together.

"Whatever we want it to be," he whispered.

COMINGCLEAN

By the time Draco had managed to pick himself up and hobble back up the stairs, Lucius was even more irritated than before; but at least, Draco reasoned, he hadn't made it worse by crying– although, to be fair, the tears were pressing against his clenched shut eyelids like water waiting to break through a dam.

As soon as he got to Lucius, the elder Malfoy grabbed him by the neck and shook him. "Don't you _ever_ doubt me again, Draco," he warned, eyes spitting fire. "I am punishing you for your mistakes, as I have every right to. You are my son, and I can discipline you in any way I please."

Draco nodded rapidly, sore neck screaming at the rough treatment. "Yes, sir. I know, sir," he quickly answered, practically choking on the words.

Lucius sighed and let him go in a shove-like movement; Draco nearly fell down the stairs again and just barely managed to catch himself on the railing.

Lucius allowed him to right himself and face him properly before beginning to speak again. "Are you ready, son?" he asked, painting his face with a cold smile. "I want everyone to see how obedient and remorseful you are. They'll be _ecstatic_."

Draco almost wanted to scowl– but managed to offer his father a small smile in return. "I'm ready, Father. I won't disappoint you," he promised.

"I know you won't."

The edge behind the words had Draco shivering as Lucius turned, unlocked the door, and pushed it open.

Blinding light greeted them; the basement was so dark, and Draco's eyes needed a moment to adjust. He stood behind his father, desperately wanting to hide himself for as long as possible.

No such luck. Lucius moved beside him and pressed a hand to his lower back, pushing him forward through the hallway and into the ballroom, where hundreds of pairs of eyes immediately lit upon him like vultures upon their prey.

There was a moment of silence.

...and then came the laughter.

Snickers that began as polite, stifled giggles and grew and festered until there was a giant tidal wave of sound; disgust and hate and anger; barreling towards Draco in a relentless circuit that had him inexplicably biting back tears more poignantly than when he'd been beaten. Never before had he felt so embarrassed.

"Hello again, my friends," Lucius greeted in his permeating voice, tone subtly smug as he observed Draco's reaction. "I see you approve of my son's attire for this evening."

There were a few catcalls, and Draco had the distinct feeling that his skin was crawling.

"Once again, I advise you and encourage you to treat him the same way you would a house elf," Lucius continued, voice hardening. "It's what he deserves for his mistakes, no? Absolute humiliation."

A murmur of poignant agreement, and Draco felt himself begin to tremble slightly.

"Very well, then, I hope you have a wonderful evening," the elder blonde said smoothly. "Please let me know if you have any...difficulties...with your servant tonight."

He bowed shortly and walked away to mingle, and Draco stood frozen for a few long seconds, swallowing thickly and wondering where to even begin. His knee was _throbbing _underneath him, and he felt like he was going to be sick; at the feeling of everyone staring and jeering at him, his stomach had begun churning uncomfortably. Overall, he felt awful, and he certainly would rather be anywhere else than in a ballroom of his father's sick friends waiting to ridicule him.

_I wish I was with Harr–Potter, _he thought randomly, limbs tingling at the thought, remembering strong arms and warm lips, wild black hair and a lightening-shaped scar...

"Hey, fairy-boy!" someone shouted, and before he knew it, glass was shattering across his face.

Draco yelped automatically in pain and reached stunned hands up to wipe the shards of the thrown wine glass off of his shoulder and out of his cheek, wincing as they cut further into his skin.

"Did you hear me, boy?" the same burly voice shouted, clearly in warning. Draco hurried to locate the man– which wasn't hard to do, considering he was hundreds of pounds overweight and the only one standing– and scampered over to him, practically hopping on one leg so as not to put weight on his knee.

"So sorry, sir, I did not mean to make you wait," he rattled off automatically. "What do you need?"

"I need for you to answer me when I speak to you," he snarled, raising a paw-like hand to smack Draco's face; the abused skin rang with the sound and flared red, and Draco stifled a gasp.

"Y-yes, sir," he whispered. "It won't happen again."

"I'll make sure it doesn't," the large man said pompously, staring down his nose at the blonde. "Now, if you'd please fetch me another wine glass; I seem to have lost track of mine."

_It's still embedded in my cheek, you asshole, _Draco thought, but outwardly he offered a gracious smile and said, "Yes, sir. Right away."

He hobbled over to the kitchen, fighting to ignore the derogatory comments, the tugging on his costume, and the random shoves that had him whimpering from landing on his knee– and finally managed to make it to the room, breathing hard and feeling furious.

He slipped through the door and then froze; voices were wafting around the corner– Draco heard the distinct sound of his father.

...Begging.

_What the hell is going on?_ he wondered, heart hammering in his chest. He very quietly tiptoed closer, and then went absolutely still, not a single muscle moving, not a single breath making it out his lips.

Voldemort.

Voldemort was in his house.

_Oh, Merlin, help me._

-----------

**AN:** Sorry guys, had to cut it off here. Otherwise this woulda been another 10 pages! Anyway, read n review! Much love~

CSTSS


	8. Embarrassments

**AN:** Whew, this is a LONG chapter. And I was actually going to continue and make it twice as long because it would be more fluid, but instead decided to split it in two because I didn't want to make you guys wait another week for it.. so anyway, I'm pretty proud of certain parts of it, and others..meh. I'm never 100% happy, but I think it's decent, so please read n let me know :D

ALSO, **PLEASE READ:**

The last chapter, I got a review that, put plainly, pissed me off. It wasn't that it was necessarily a "flame", but it was just what the person said that upset me. The review was:

"Okay, I was right behind how Harry handled his house - I was able to believe it, anyway - but when Draco didn't blast Flint to the four winds with a spell, you lost me. Being a bottom does NOT mean being a floor mat, and I just cannot see Draco not throwing some spells around in a situation like that.

Then you don't have Snape send Draco to Pomfrey or do something about the blond's injuries himself?

Those are holes you could drive a Mac truck through."

And I also want to share with you my response, because I don't want any of you to misunderstand my character or plot choices. I stand by every 'hole' she pointed out, and this is why:

"First of all, think about it for a second. Draco's all about respect and ranking-- and he lost both. It's almost like Slytherin edicate-- he was facing his evident defeat with as much dignity as he could. Also, the entire house was against him at that point; do you really think he'd be stupid enough to blast spells at Flint with all of them there, ready to fire back? That idea is ludicrous, and completely against his character-- who is quite clever and definitely knows when to pick and choose his battles. That fight was one he had already lost, and there would have been no point to fighting against it. It's not about being a bottom, it's about the situation at hand.

Secondly, even if Snape had an idea of who beat him up, he didn't have solid evidence. He couldn't have punished Flint for it. As for the injuries-- if Draco was in class, I'm sure Snape would assume that he'd already gone to Pomfrey, and she had assessed him and deemed him suitable to go to class.

I hope that cleared up the supposed 'holes' you pointed out. Believe it or not, I do know my characters, and I try to keep them as true to them as possible. I understand being constructive, and I appreciate the sentiment in general-- but please allow me to explain myself before simply attacking the piece.

Thanks for the review.

CSTSS"

So, yeah. I just wanted to share that with my readers, because if any of you were feeling the same way-- I hope that now, it's been addressed.

Anyway, on to the story! Enjoy!

-----------

"Please, Lord, I have everything planned," Lucius simpered, kissing the edges of his Lord's robes. "It's all under control, I promise you."

"Lucius," Voldemort said, cold voice even cooler in anger. "I did not desire this entire production. You told me that Draco would be brought here and we'd begin initiation immediately. And yet here you are making changes to the plan. You do not make the rules, Lucius– I do. Is that understood?"

"But of course, dear Lord, of course," Lucius rambled, nearly nonsensically. "But surely you of all people understand the necessity of discipline? My son needs to learn the full extent of his mistakes. I was only–

"You were _defying _me, Lucius," Voldemort hissed, wand raising in warning. "I told you I wanted to–

He abruptly stopped and turned his head very slightly towards the door. "We have an intruder," he calmly revealed. "We will talk again soon, Lucius. Have your son ready by tomorrow. I will not have my plans pushed back any further."

"Yes, my Lord," Lucius said respectfully, bowing as deeply as he could before the imposing wizard. "I will have everything ready."

Voldemort gave him a look of vague approval. "Don't disappoint me, Lucius."

COMINGCLEAN

Harry was frustrated, exasperated, and, _damnit_, worried as hell. Draco hadn't written back; he'd been staring at the paper for a reply for the last two hours now, and he hadn't gotten any luck. Not even a spot of ink.

He just couldn't shake the feeling that there was something _wrong _with the whole situation. And it wasn't just a vague feeling of unease– it felt like a tidal wave, a rushing sensation of shaky concern and fear; not unlike what he'd felt when Voldemort had planted that vision of-of Sirius in his mind, and he'd been so _certain _that something was wrong.

This couldn't be the same, could it? Just a ploy, designed to mess with his head?

_Malfoy wouldn't do that. Even _he's_ not that cruel._

"But Voldemort is," he murmured. He sighed, rubbing his head in pained exhaustion. He wanted to sleep– but he just couldn't lessen the anxiety enough to even consider it.

Finally, he decided to just _try _and lay down; he went to set the paper down when suddenly an elegant but obviously frantically written script began to appear.

"O-oh, Merlin," he gasped, grasping the paper tightly and peering at the words that were forming:

_Potter, You-Know-Who is here. _

"Shit," Harry murmured, stomach clenching in concern.

_Can't say much, no time. I don't know what's going to happen. There's something planned._

Harry gulped, watching the paper closely in trepidation.

_I'm scared._

Harry's heart clenched in his chest and he stared at the paper for a few more moments– but no more words were forthcoming.

Determination immediately flooded through him and he hurried to grab a pen, scribbling frantically:

_I'm coming, Draco. Everything's going to be alright. I promise._

He could only hope he wouldn't be too late.

COMINGCLEAN

"Draco," Lucius snapped, anger flaring at the realization that the 'intruder' had been his son– who was supposed to have been tending to his friends' needs. "_What _are you doing in here?"

Draco, who had just barely managed to tuck Harry's gift into his pocket before his father had come around the corner, hid the spasm of fear that tugged at his expression and instead offered the taller man a respectful look. "I was retrieving silverware for a gentleman inside," he said calmly. "He seems to have... lost track... of his wine glass."

Lucius peered at him, eyes narrowing. How much had he heard? "Well, son, I suggest you don't take too long," he said in a warning tone. "If anyone is kept waiting..."

"No, of course not, sir," Draco said rapidly. "I'm bringing it out to him right now."

The smaller Malfoy turned to the cabinet and grabbed a glass, then moved to leave. As soon as his back was to Lucius, the elder blonde snaked an arm around his neck and pulled him backwards, flush against him.

"You _ever _attempt to eavesdrop on my conversations again, and I swear to you I will break every measly bone in your body," he snarled.

Draco tensed, throat bobbing fearfully at both their proximity and the threat. "Y-yes sir," he promised, voice shaking.

"Good," Lucius spat, before shoving the boy away. "Don't let it happen again." With that, he stormed out of the kitchen, robes billowing out behind him in a way that would rival Snape's.

Draco winced, his hip having slammed into the corner of the counter in the process of his father's exit, but at least managed to keep himself upright. "Damn," he muttered, rubbing the spot ruefully. His fingers passed over the lump in his pocket, and he glanced about before pulling out the paper once again, breath hitching as he read its contents.

He'd really done it. He'd betrayed his father– and called for help. And now Harry Potter was coming to rescue him.

He should've felt guilt like nothing he'd ever felt before at the complete betrayal of his family.

So why in Merlin's name did he feel so relieved?

_**An hour later...**_

Draco didn't know how much longer he could hang on. It had only been an hour, and he could barely keep himself upright; he'd been pushed, slapped, pinched, elbowed– his body was covered in bruises, and his knee was causing so much pain that his vision blurred with every step.

In other words, he was nearing the end of his rope.

But the party and its members seemed to have no intentions of slowing down; with each new pass to and from the kitchen, dozens called him over to 'request' his services once again– which really meant to taunt him and otherwise humiliate him– and there appeared to be no end in sight.

"Fairy boy," someone barked from just ahead of him.

Fuck. Goyle's father again.

"One moment, sir," Draco said through gritted teeth, gesturing with a nod at the plates already in his hands.

The burly man obviously didn't like that answer, because as Draco went to pass by him, he reached out and knocked the full plates of food right out of the blonde's hands, sending spaghetti splattering all over his costume and the floor and shattering the fine china.

Draco couldn't help it– he cursed. "Fucking asshole!" he snapped, infuriated.

It took about two seconds for him to realize what the hell he'd just done; and then he was on the floor before he even realized that Goyle had gotten up and risen his fist.

"A-ah," he groaned, clutching his rapidly swelling cheek, wincing as he tasted blood.

"You _disrespectful _little _shit!_" the elder Goyle snarled, spit spraying over Draco's body. He whipped out his wand, pointed it at the prone boy, and shouted, "_Crucio_!"

Pain. So much pain.

Draco's face contorted with it, mouth opening in a silent scream, body twisting and spasming as all-encompassing _agony _throbbed within it.

_Pot– Harry. oh, Merlin, save me HarryHarryplease make it stopplease–_

It felt like an eternity later when the curse was finally lifted. Draco panted, choking back sobs, wondering if he could even _move _at this point– let alone continue with his duties. His whole body was trembling violently, as if he'd been electrocuted It was a horrible feeling, and one he'd never gotten used to, despite how many times he'd been subjected to the curse over the years.

"That oughta teach you, you filth," Goyle spit, kicking him half-heartedly in the stomach. The contact to Draco's already screaming skin had him coughing and shaking violently, to which the cruel man merely smirked at. "Now get up and clean up that mess you made," he continued in a demanding voice. "Afterwards you can get Mr. and Mrs. Parkinson here their dinners, which they've been waiting so long for."

Draco spat bile and blood, and somehow managed to croak, "Yes, sir" even though what he really wanted to say was, _they would have had them already if you hadn't of knocked them out of my hands, fucker. _He very slowly and carefully sat up, clutching his middle and trying not to be sick.

"Sometime today, if you please," Mrs. Parkinson said snootily, gazing at him with her nose crinkled in disgust.

Draco wiped at the spaghetti dripping down his front and said rather nastily, "In a moment, _madam_."

"Don't you use that tone with my wife," Mr. Parkinson snapped, pointing an angry finger at him. "I won't hesitate to make you regret it."

He accompanied the threat with a reach for his wand; evidently Goyle's use of the Cruciatus had made all of them a little less wary of using legitimately damaging spells on him– for the past hour they'd made use of mostly non-magical torment, and now that the floodgate had been opened, Draco had a feeling he'd be subject to a lot of painful Dark Magic in the hours to come.

"I apologize, sir," he said respectfully to the affronted man. "Forgive my rudeness."

Mr. Parkinson's teeth gnashed. "Just get our food out here immediately," he said waspishly, tucking the wand back into his pocket. "Don't make us wait any longer."

Draco nodded rapidly, glad at the reprieve; the other man could have easily cursed him for his transgression, and he was relieved at the unexpected mercy. "Right away, sir," he promised, scrambling forward with a wince to begin picking up the glass littered in front of him. Unfortunately, his father had taken away his own wand at the beginning of the evening, so he couldn't use a few simple spells to clean the mess. He supposed it made sense, considering the fact that it was supremely embarrassing being on his hands and knees, cleaning up spaghetti in front of hundreds of vicious eyes, dressed up in a fairy costume.

_Fucking bastard._

Draco's eyes widened at the thought, and he almost nicked himself on one of the pieces as he fumbled it in shock.

_Blasphemy, Draco. Don't ever think something like that again! _he told himself frantically. _Your father is a great man! This is merely discipline that you deserve. _

Draco nodded to himself and shakily picked up the rest of the pieces, placing them on the fallen tray before preparing himself to get to his feet.

Just as he was about to attempt it, a man sitting right beside him tugged roughly on his hair, and he nearly yelped in surprise.

"Y-yes, sir?" he asked, turning on hands and knees to face him. _Merlin, how humiliating, _he thought, feeling like a dog in the pose and the question.

He recognized the man as soon as he turned– Flint's dad. _Shit. _

Mr. Flint's eyes sparkled almost unnaturally; he beared his teeth in a frightening version of a smile and tugged Draco's hair again, forcing him forward, so that he was practically in between his own legs.

"S-sir?" Draco tried again, gulping convulsively in fear. "I-

"Shut up," the older man snapped, silencing the blonde immediately. He let go of his hold on Draco's hair, only to rub his hand over it, none too gently sifting calloused fingers through the fine strands.

Draco winced, and forced himself not to protest to the treatment– the punishment would be much worse than the act itself, he was sure.

"You're a faggot, huh?" the man asked, voice an amused whisper.

Draco bit his lip and said nothing.

A harsh tug on his hair, and he said through gritted teeth, "Yes."

"Good boy," Flint praised, petting the blonde strands as if he were petting an animal. "Well then, surely you wouldn't mind..."

He gestured lewdly to his crotch, and gave Draco a darkly expectant look.

The younger Malfoy nearly vomited. "W-what?" he gasped, voice weak and unsteady. "Y-you can't– I-I don't– that's not–

The tug on his hair was so violent that his neck gave a loud 'pop' and he felt several strands leave his scalp.

"Are you disobeying me, boy?" Flint snarled, face looking like the replicate of his son's, red and contorted in anger. "Because I swear I will–

"No, no, sir," Draco hurriedly assured. "I'm sorry, sir. I was merely–surprised. Please forgive my rudeness."

Flint's eyes flashed and his jaw worked. "Don't let it happen again."

Draco nodded and offered a shaky, "Yes, sir."

They stared at each other, one gaze deeply frightened, the other morbidly amused.

"Well?" Flint prompted, gesturing again to the place between his open legs, mere inches away from Draco's pale, pinched face.

Draco swallowed thickly, his whole body trembling. _I don't want to. Please, please don't make me. Please._

_Where are you, Harry?_

COMINGCLEAN

Snape had put Blaise and Seamus together for the latest assignment: a month-long project involving designing their own potion and then giving a lecture on it to the class.

They'd put on a big show of resentment and anger, of course, but their eyes were glittering with a completely opposite emotion as they took their seats beside one another.

"Should be fun, eh, Finnigan?" Blaise teased under his breath, hand already straying to rest on the other's thigh.

Seamus shivered, both at the breath ghosting across his ear and the fingers stroking his skin. "Yeah," he murmured thickly.

Blaise smirked and moved his hand up a little, settling on the inside of the boy's leg, mere inches away from his growing arousal.

Seamus bit his lip, breath coming a little faster at the sensation. "Blaise," he warned, without much force. "We're in class..."

"So?" Blaise breathed against his ear, darting his tongue out to lick along the soft shell the way he knew made Seamus' knees weak. "Makes it more fun."

"A-ah," Seamus sighed, shuddering, unconsciously leaning closer to the other boy. "Feels good..."

The Slytherin took the petal-soft earlobe into his mouth and bit gently, then soothed the skin with his tongue. Seamus panted, eyelids fluttering, feeling arousal charge his blood with the most poignant electricity.

"W-want you," he gasped, hand reaching down to grip Blaise's, still resting on his thigh. Blaise pulled their now entwined fingers upwards, and finally touched Seamus _there_–

"Hey, you two," someone whispered sharply, and Seamus immediately felt himself be snapped forcefully back to reality.

He pushed Blaise away from him and forced himself to focus on the person in front of him– Harry. "What?" he snapped at his fellow Gryffindor, trying not to pant or let his cheeks turn pink.

"You might want to be a little more discrete," the other boy said, gesturing knowingly in between them. His voice lowered to a whisper. "Snogging all over each other in the middle of class isn't exactly the smartest of ideas."

Seamus promptly felt the familiar surge of anger, disgust, and denial, the three together completely obliterating the simple embarrassment he'd felt before. "The fuck are you talking about, Harry?" he snarled, getting to his feet. "I don't snog _boys_– I'm not a _faggot, _like you!"

The whole class went utterly silent, turning to Harry to catch his reaction.

Harry, surprisingly, didn't look hurt, nor angry; his face stayed that same understanding, compassionate expression, and he said nothing, merely gazing at the Irish boy.

It was _infuriating_.

"Fuck you, Harry!" Seamus shouted. "You're _wrong!_"

With everyone staring at him– _suspiciously; they know, they know!– _the Irish boy felt his temper flare to a dangerous degree, and he stormed towards the door, intent upon leaving and unleashing his anger upon the nearest wall– or better yet, on himself.

"And where do you think you're going?" Snape snapped, smoothly cutting him off and making him unable to leave.

"Out," Seamus snarled, moving to push past him; Snape darted out long fingers to clamp around the Irish boy's arm in a vice-like grip, digging into the skin painfully hard as his own anger flared.

No one expected the nearly inhuman scream that came out of his student as a result.

Seamus positively _howled _with pain; his vision briefly went black, and when it returned, Snape had let him go, and was frowning at his own fingers, damp with red.

Seamus' lips trembled. His breath hitched, and then he was running– tearing for the door at breakneck speed, throwing it open and sprinting outside, heart slamming in his chest as his feet pounded against the cement floor of the dungeons.

"Seamus!" someone called from behind him. "Stop, Seamus!"

_Leave me alone, Harry! _Seamus thought, picking up his pace even more.

"Damnit, Seamus!" Harry cursed, pulling out his wand from his robes. "_Impedimenta!_"

Seamus legs froze and he tripped, landing on the floor in a tangled mess of limbs hard enough to jar his senses.

Luckily, Harry hadn't put much force behind the spell, and it was already wearing off; Seamus made to crawl to his feet, but the Boy-Who-Lived had already caught up and was now standing above him, looking stern and–surprisingly– angry.

"Let me see your arm," he demanded, wand still a threatening presence, held tightly at his side.

Seamus balked. "N-no," he refused, scrambling again; but his limbs were still not cooperating correctly, and he landed back on the floor with a thud.

"It was you who broke the mirror in the bathroom, wasn't it?" Harry prompted, voice harsh; the anxiety of the situation with Draco was pumping through his veins and fueling this sudden anger. "And it wasn't an accident either, was it? You're hurting yourself, aren't you!"

"Shut _up, _Harry!" Seamus yelled, pulling out his own wand and finally making it to his feet. "That's not true– you don't know what the hell you're talking about!"

"Then _show me your arm!_" Harry bellowed, pointing his wand in Seamus' face with a hand shaking from rage.

"No!" Seamus fired back, fury taking over as he too brought his wand up. "_Expellia–_

But Harry was faster. "_Petrificus Totalus!_" he shouted.

Seamus went down hard, body frozen in place, landing woodenly on the floor with wide eyes and a shocked expression.

Harry, breathing hard, kneeled down and ripped his robes up the Irish boy's arms, finally revealing the sick, garish truth.

There was a thick, permeating silence.

"Merlin," the dark-haired boy whispered, all anger draining out of him in the face of such gruesome reality. He fell backwards, sitting down heavily beside Seamus' prone body, feeling like he was going to be sick. There was so much blood– so much torn, ripped skin. It was horrifying. "Seamus..."

The wide eyes of the frozen Irish boy were now blinking back furious tears; Seamus felt utterly humiliated and exposed. Never had he wanted more poignantly than to sink into the ground and cease to exist. Blood dripped down the newly opened wounds on his arms, and he focused on the way it stung as it carved a trail down the butchered skin instead of the mortification burning through his veins.

"W-why didn't you–why didn't you say anything, Seamus?" Harry finally asked, voice weak and shaky. "Y-you didn't have to do this to yourself. You could've talked to me, or to Dean...or even to Zabini, _Merlin_..."

He seemed to be out of words. He shook his head a few times, utterly floored by the entire situation.

Seamus turned angry, pained eyes over to him, silently begging for him to remove the spell.

"O-oh," Harry realized, startled, and muttered the counter-curse. "Sorry, I–

"Don't you _ever_ do that again," Seamus immediately growled, voice not nearly as forceful as he wanted it to be; instead it was trembling from the overwhelming maelstrom of emotion swirling inside of him. "This is _none _of your business." He pulled down the sleeves of his robes and got shakily to his feet.

Harry stood as well, looking supremely guilty and sympathetic, but equally determined. "Yes it is, Seamus– and I'm not keeping it quiet," he said lowly, peering into the bright brown eyes. "You need help."

"The fuck I do," Seamus snapped, real fear churning in his stomach at the threat. His voice turned pleading. "Harry, please. Don't tell. It's not a problem, honestly."

Harry bit his lip. "I'm sorry, Seamus. I'm going to tell Dumbledore. He'll get you some help, and everything will be okay, I–

"_Obliviate!_" Seamus yelled, before he could even think about it.

Harry's eyes glazed over for a long moment, and Seamus felt terrified– had he put too much force behind it? Had he destroyed the other's memory entirely?

"O-oh, Merlin," he whispered, wand shaking horribly in his still outstretched hand. "H-Harry? Can you hear me?"

Harry blinked, once, twice, then, finally, his eyes cleared. "Seamus?" he asked, dazedly. "W-what's going on?"

Relief flooded through the Irish boy. "You were on your way back to Potions, Harry," he said, trying not to let his voice tremble. "Remember?"

"E-er, yeah, sure," Harry replied. His eyebrows furrowed. "Wait, we have Potions together. Where are you going?"

"I, uh... was sent to Madame Pomfrey's. Got a little cut," he lied, realizing how stupid it sounded as soon as he said it, considering the fact that all of the students knew how to use 'episkey' and wouldn't have needed a trip to the Hospital Wing for something so minor.

Luckily, Harry's mind was still a little frazzled, so he didn't question it. "Alright," he muttered. "See you later, then."

He turned– the wrong way– to head back, then corrected himself with a lopsided grin and continued back down the hallway from which they'd come.

Seamus heaved a sigh of relief, putting his hands over his face and trembling for a few long moments. "Merlin," he mumbled into his quivering skin. "I just Obliviated the Boy-Who-Lived..."

COMINGCLEAN

_This can't be happening, _was all Draco could seem to think as he sat there, shell-shocked, more frightened than he'd ever been in his life.

"I'm getting impatient, boy," Flint warned, but his eyes didn't look angry– they were still oddly _amused _by the whole affair. Something just...wasn't right about the situation, but Draco couldn't put his finger on it– nor did he have time to.

He took a long, shaky breath, knowing that any second now he'd be getting punished for his resistance, but still needing to center himself somewhat– he felt like he was about to have a panic attack.

Finally somewhat calm, he opened his eyes and felt the nerves come back tenfold at the realization of what he was about to do.

Something akin to a whimper came out his throat, and he bit down hard to quell the keening wail that wanted to follow it. Finally, slowly, he reached out with violently shaking hands to undo the silver zipper.

Unfortunately for Draco, he was so frightened and so focused on his task that he completely missed the shift of the elder Flint's expression from amused to absolutely enraged; didn't notice when the hand left his hair to rear back, curled in a promising fist.

"You fucking _faggot!_" the man finally roared, driving his fist into the boy's face as hard as he could, watching with satisfaction as his head snapped to the side and his body fell to the floor. "You actually thought I– thought _I _was like _you_? You thought I wanted _you_, you disgusting _filth_!?"

Draco scrambled backwards, utterly shocked and terrified. "W-wha? S-sir, I–

"Shut up!" Flint raged, so furious he could barely see straight. He stalked over to Draco and hauled him up by the hair, then threw him at his table, sending a few of the women still sitting their squealing and dodging to the side as the elder Malfoy crashed into the mahogany wood, hip cracking loudly, china flying everywhere.

Draco groaned as he fell to the floor, vision swaying from pain.

But Flint wasn't done yet. He marched over to the fallen blonde and kicked his stomach hard enough for Draco to taste blood, then whipped out his wand, whispering an incantation under his breath that had the young boy screaming within moments.

Cuts slashed across his face, his neck, his arms– everywhere, it felt like knives were sinking into his skin and ripping through it; it was agony, it was horrible, he couldn't breathe, so much blood somuchpain–

Flint's lips twisted in a snarl and he lifted the curse only to send another foot into the boy's torso, causing an agonized groan and a gasping breath from the prone Malfoy.

"You disgust me," he spat, expression angry and derisive. "That you actually thought I _wanted _you to..." he shuddered explosively, ready to do more damage.

"P-please, sir," Draco begged, against his better judgement. "I was only–only meaning to– to obey your orders. I wasn't t-trying to insinuate anything, sir. I promise."

"Is there a problem, Siles?" Lucius asked, striding up to the elder Flint with a cool expression on his face, angry eyes directed at Draco. "Did my son bother you?"

"To put it lightly," Flint snapped, looking affronted. He spat at the still prone boy and growled, "This little _fairy _decided to make a move on me."

"_Wha–_

"I did not!"

"Silence, you deceitful shit!" Flint bellowed, kicking his knee. His _broken _knee.

Draco wailed. He cried with ear-splitting sobs that filled the room with a permeating sense of agony and despair. A few people turned to look at him, guilt beginning to creep up in the very depths of their eyes, their expressions seeming to say, 'I didn't sign up for this_._'

"Stop that at this instant, Draco," Lucius admonished, staring down digustedly at his hysterical son. "You are a Malfoy, and this behavior is entirely unbecoming."

Draco sucked in air through his nose and tried to hold it, but his chest seemed hell-bent on heaving, and his eyes refused to stop watering. He felt himself spiraling downward into panic; the past few hours had wreaked havoc on his nerves and he was physically, mentally, and emotionally at the breaking point.

But his father was staring down at him, and Draco could see his fingers inching towards his wand; he knew if he didn't pull himself together, he'd certainly regret it.

"Y-yes, s-s-sir," he finally managed to choke out, reaching up with trembling fingers to wipe his face, wet with snot and tears.

"Get up," Lucius ordered, daring him to disobey.

_I can't, _was on the tip of his tongue, but Draco bit it back. He had to at least try.

He put his good leg underneath him and bent forward at the waist, fingers grappling for purchase on the floor in preparation for it to give out below him. Then, slowly, shakily, he pressed down on his foot and brought his lower body off the ground. Blood rushed to his head as he considered how he was to get his upper body up as well; finally, he pulled his hands away from the ground and snapped the rest of the way up, nearly falling backwards in the process.

There, standing on one leg, looking like death itself, he stood in front of his father, whose face still held no kindness for him.

Lucius turned to Flint. "Now then, Siles, my friend, if you wouldn't mind repeating your story– my son will not be interrupting again, I'm sure."

"Your little faggot of a son thought that _I _would want his dirty little hands on me," Flint began again, nastily. "If you're trying to knock that disease out of him, Lucius, you've got a long way to go."

Lucius looked like he'd been slapped, but quickly cooled his expression. "I assure you, I will succeed," he said resolutely. "Draco here simply needs some...discipline."

Flint huffed disbelievingly and crossed his arms over his chest. "Well, I think it's useless," he scoffed. "And I refuse to sit here and be hit on by such scum. So if you'll excuse me and my wife, Lucius, I think we'll be taking our leave."

A small frown appeared above Lucius' brow, but that was the only sign of his growing anger. "Yes, my friend, I completely understand," he politely replied. "I assure you that my son will be punished greatly for his transgressions."

"He'd better be," Flint said darkly, eyeing the younger Malfoy with a predatory gleam in his gaze.

Draco bravely met his eyes, wanting to show both he and his father that he wasn't weak– and he had to force himself not to look away at the sheer depth of hatred and disgust held in the angry irises.

Finally, Flint broke the stare, and turned towards his wife. "Shall we leave, Melinda?" he asked, reaching out a hand.

"Yes, darling," she agreed, looking a bit shaken. She took his proffered hand and got to her feet, warily eyeing Draco as she passed to step to her husband's side.

As she did so, Draco heard a very tiny whisper– so slight as to be a speck in a breeze.

_"I'm sorry."_

It should have made him feel better, feel somewhat less alone– but it didn't. Not in the slightest.

Because one look at his father's face told him he was in for _Hell._

COMINGCLEAN

Dumbledore sat at his desk, peering at his wand, which was spinning around steadily in the air in front of him. It seemed the Malfoy Manor was very well protected, indeed. His tracer that he'd placed in Draco's bloodstream was the best of its kind– and after nearly a day of trying to find the elusive mansion, it still hadn't succeeded.

Harry had stopped by nearly six times already this morning, and Dumbledore had hated having to tell him the same disappointing news. But, sadly, there was nothing they could do at this point but wait until the device pointed them in the right direction.

It was an infuriating predicament, but there was no other option. Draco would just have to hold on as best as he could.

COMINGCLEAN

"Did you really?" Blaise asked, approaching his distressed lover, who had just admitted to hexing Harry Potter.

Seamus whirled around, surprise written all over his face. "B-Blaise, what are you doing out of class? People could–

"Don't worry, Mr. Homophobe, I'm out on a bathroom pass," he said, voice sharper than his teasing words.

Seamus flinched. "Sorry," he muttered, sincerely.

Blaise offered a gentle smirk; then, without further ado, caught Seamus by the arm and tugged him into the nearest empty classroom.

"Wha–what are you–

He was cut off by smooth lips on his own; the kiss was, strangely, not sexual– there was a tenderness to it that caught the Irish boy a little off guard.

"W-what?" he asked, pulling away and looking up at the Slytherin, brown eyes peering up vulnerably from dark lashes.

Blaise smoothed a lock of hair behind Seamus' ear and stared at him, perplexed. "There's something going on, isn't there?" he asked softly. "Something you're not telling me."

"I don't have to tell you anything," Seamus snapped automatically, then winced. "Sorry. Habit."

Blaise looked a little amused. "It's alright," he assured. "Now tell me what's wrong. What is it that you didn't want Harry to know?"

Seamus swallowed thickly, and gave the other boy a vaguely defiant look. "I don't want to," he said stubbornly. "Plus, it's none of your mmf–

Blaise kissed him, hard, then pulled back to growl, "It is my business when it has to do with _you, _Seamus."

The Irish boy looked vaguely shell-shocked. Then his eyes darkened, and he pressed Blaise forward until he'd trapped the taller boy against the wall before ravishing his neck, licking and nipping at the soft expanse of skin.

"F-fuck, Seamus..." Blaise breathed, completely forgetting about what he'd wanted to talk to the boy about in the first place in the face of such surprisingly skillful ministrations.

Seamus nosed at the hot juncture in between jaw and neck, loving the salty scent and the rough texture he found there. It was times like these when he _knew, _with absolute certainty, that this wasn't a passing fancy; a phase.

He was _gay, _plain and simple.

And it was funny– when he was with Blaise, the other boy inside him, their bodies moving together perfectly and naturally, their souls intricately woven in that one moment of release– he didn't have the faintest problem confronting it.

_I'm gay, _he thought, as Blaise kissed his forehead and wiped his damp hair away from his eyes. _And I'm falling in love with another boy._

COMINGCLEAN

Harry trudged up the stairs to Dumbledore's office, praying that the status of their situation had changed in the last few hours. He hadn't gotten any further responses from Draco, and he was very concerned.

He sighed, rubbing his strangely sore head, and knocked on the large wooden doors in front of him.

"Come on in, Harry, m'boy!" Dumbledore called, sounding delighted.

Harry acquiesced, looking confused as he walked inside. "How'd you know it was me, Professor?"

"Lucky guess!" the elder wizard exclaimed, eyes twinkling. "Sit down, Harry, I have good news."

Harry sat down in front of Dumbledore and waited, eyes hopeful.

"Are you alright, Harry?" Dumbledore asked, peering at him closely. "You look a bit...peaky."

"Yes, yes, I'm fine," Harry brushed him off, admittedly impatient. "What's the news? Is Dra–is Malfoy's location found?"

The sparkle increased tenfold. "Yes," Dumbledore affirmed. "Just now, the tracer was finally able to reveal the Manor's coordinates. We can find him."

Harry nodded, determination clear in his expression. "Good," he approved. "When do we leave?"

"We?" Dumbledore reiterated, raising an eyebrow.

Harry looked a little sheepish, then. "Well... I just assumed that I... that he would..." he struggled.

Dumbledore smiled knowingly. "I'm sure Mr. Malfoy would appreciate your presence in the rescue team."

Harry blushed, and looked away. "I guess," he mumbled. "So...?"

"We leave tonight, as soon as everyone's ready," Dumbledore continued smoothly, taking mercy on the boy. "Professor Snape, Madame Pomfrey and myself will be joining you."

"S-Snape?" Harry spluttered, furious.

"Yes, _Professor _Snape," Dumbledore corrected, "Will be accompanying us on the rescue. He has invaluable knowledge of the Manor's layout, considering that during his spying for the Light he has had many Death Eater meetings within its walls. Not to mention he's an excellent wizard and could definitely prove to be very useful to our plight."

Harry frowned, but didn't protest further. "Alright," he agreed. "Where should I meet you all?"

"Be at the doors at 5:00. We will Apparate from there to the Manor."

Harry nodded, internalizing the information. "Yes, sir," he replied.

Dumbledore offered him a warm smile and said, "Don't you worry, Harry. I'm sure Mr. Malfoy will be just fine. Go get your things ready, and I'll meet you at 5."

Harry offered a tired smile in return, then got up and headed out of the office, quickly walking down the stairs towards his dorms, expression focused in absolute determination.

_I'm coming, Draco. Just hang on. _

_--------------_

**AN:** Just another quick note-- Seamus did not Obliviate anything else from Harry's memories except that five minute period when he found out that Seamus had been cutting. Just wanted to make sure you guys knew that, in case someone else accused me of lots of plot holes, lol.

Read n review!

CSTSS


	9. Epiphanies

**AN:** Wow...okay. Um, this chapter is pretty much a reflection of how I've been feeling the past couple of weeks. Things are..not good here, and, well, writing helps me to deal with my emotions. So, I'm sorry if it's a bit..intense. I tried to give at least a little fluff here and there, to make up for it. Hopefully, next chapter, I'll be able to give you more. I hope you enjoy this chapter anyway.

**Warnings:** NON-GRAPHIC NCS, cursing, violence

**Pairings:** Harry/Draco, Blaise/Seamus

**Disclaimer:** Characters aren't mine.

-------------------

After another hour, the guests had eaten and seemed to be anxious to leave. The incident with Flint and his subsequent departure had made most of them a little wary, and a lot of faces looked almost...guilty.

Despite their reputations, most were not inherently evil, sadistic people; they'd been born into their money and most were indeed spoiled and greedy because of it– but they did not enjoy seeing someone get tortured so ruthlessly. There were only a select few that had something dark and twisted hidden deep inside of them, that wished to see Draco hurt and bleeding– and those few looked morbidly disappointed in the fact that the evening was coming to an end.

Draco, personally, was deeply relieved. He was in so much pain; his vision tunneled with every step; his temples throbbed, and his stomach lurched. All he wanted to do was curl up somewhere, anywhere– _with Potter, preferably_– and sleep_._

Unfortunately, he was quite sure that his father had no such plans.

"Draco," said Malfoy approached him, nose turned up in haughtiness. "This part of your task is complete. While I dismiss the guests, go down to the basement and wait for me to return."

Draco nodded, trying not to let the relief show on his face. "Yes, sir," he replied, before turning around and slowly maneuvering himself towards the direction of the basement, preparing for a long, painful walk. He was quite certain that he wasn't going to accomplish the feat.

Once again, it seemed he'd underestimated his abilities. It took several long, excruciating minutes, but he'd somehow managed to half-hobble, half-crawl over to the basement and down the long flight of stairs.

Finally, when he'd reached the bottom, he collapsed against the wall and panted for several minutes, spasming as the pain caught up with his shaking limbs.

"You did it, Draco," he whispered absently to himself, deliriously pleased as he thought over the past few hours and how well he'd obeyed his father. _I hope he's proud of me, _he thought, flushing at the idea. "You did it..."

He didn't have time to celebrate, because just then he saw the door open and his father's silhouette standing in the threshold. He shivered a little, trying to ignore the immediate swell of fear in his belly, and watched Lucius gracefully descend the cellar stairs.

"Draco," his father began, coming to a stop in front of his collapsed son and staring down at him derisively. "You did a...decent...job tonight."

Draco felt a flush of pride. "Thank you, sir."

"However," he continued, eyes darkening in lingering anger. "That discrepancy with Mr. Flint needs to be addressed. You embarrassed me yet again, Draco."

Draco knew better than to argue, and merely said, "I apologize, sir."

"I can only conclude from that incident that humiliation was not enough to combat this disease inside of you," Lucius said, voice a touch bitter, but equally determined. "Not to worry, though. I have other plans."

Draco shuddered, thinking of Voldemort's appearance earlier that evening.

Lucius briefly glanced at his watch. "It's past midnight, Draco. That means we are already on to our next lesson– regret."

Draco bit his lip. "Yes, sir."

"To begin," Lucius started, circling him like a predator surveying its prey. "Strip."

Draco choked, utterly surprised. Coughing, he finally managed to get out a strangled, "Yes, sir."

He slowly, painfully extricated himself from the tangled mess of his fairy costume, first pulling off the tutu, then the leotard, and then, the worst– the stockings. He took the utmost care in pulling them over his swollen, mottled knee, the merest touch against the area causing an electric jolt of pain to surge through him.

Shaking, he finally succeeded in fully undressing, and lay there, broken and naked, in front of his impatient father.

"Good," Lucius approved, staring at him coldly. "Now, you need to get some rest for tomorrow, because I have something big planned. Should you disappoint me at that crucial juncture..."

He let the words trail off, allowing Draco to imagine his own horrors instead of telling him himself. "However," he continued after a moment. "I cannot allow you to simply rest tonight, Draco, when you have not earned it. That incident with Siles must be acknowledged with some sort of punishment."

Draco nodded. "I understand, sir."

"Very well, then," Lucius said briskly, pulling out his wand and muttering an incantation. The room instantly went from relatively normal room temperature to absolutely _freezing. _The walls frosted over, the ground grew icy, the air became visible, condensing fog wafting off of the frozen surfaces of the cellar.

Draco's teeth chattered, and his whole body began to tremble. _Fuck, _he thought, grimacing, wishing- unbelievably- that he still had his costume on; anything to protect him from the horrid feeling of cold seeping into his skin.

"I know how much you hate the cold," Lucius said, a small smirk forming on his face. "As such, you will be staying in this room for the remainder of the night. I'm sure by tomorrow morning, you will be sorry for your disgusting actions."

"Y-y-yes s-sir," Draco stammered, spasming already from the cold.

"Sweet dreams," Lucius said, maliciously.

He walked up the stairs and, when he reached the top, turned slightly to give Draco an intense look– warning, condescension, and sharp amusement, all in one. "Goodnight, Draco," he said darkly, before switching off the lights, smothering the room in darkness.

"O-oh, Merlin," Draco gasped as soon as he was gone, feeling the cold seep into his skin, down to his _bones. _God, it was _freezing. _"H-hurry, Harry..."

COMINGCLEAN

"I really hate her, Blaise," Seamus said darkly, watching Pansy enter the library and praying that she wouldn't come over to their table.

Blaise smiled bemusedly. "I'm not too fond of her either, you know," he offered, smile spreading, making no move to hide his delight at Seamus' blatant jealousy.

"Don't laugh at me, jerk," the Irish boy whined, shoving at him half-heartedly.

Blaise merely snickered and whispered, "You're just so cute when you're jealous."

Predictably, Seamus' cheeks turned red, and he muttered stubbornly, "M'not cute. And I'm not jealous. She's just a bitch."

Blaise laughed outright at that, and was promptly shushed by the librarian. Sobering, he replied, "Agreed."

"Blaisey?" Pansy called, feigning surprise at seeing him as she hurried over to their table. "I didn't think you'd be here so late!"

Blaise hid a grimace by glancing at his watch. "It's barely 3 o' clock," he said, as gently as he could, fighting the urge to snap at the annoying girl.

She spluttered a little, then managed to get out, "Well, you didn't tell me you'd be here, working with _him._" She glared pointedly at Seamus, then turned back to Blaise, voice lowering into a simper. "And I thought you'd be coming to my room after Care of Magical Creatures..."

Blaise watched Seamus' eyes flare with anger, and briefly tightened the hand resting on the boy's thigh in reassurance. "I apologize, Pans," he said, no warmth in his voice. "But we needed to get started on the Potions project right away."

"We have two weeks to do it!" Pansy pointed out indignantly. "You don't need to be spending time with this _Mudblood_ alrea–

Seamus leapt up from his seat before she could finish and snarled, "You little _bitch, _don't you dare call me that!"

"Mr. Finnigan!" Madame Pince shouted in a stage whisper. "You will _quiet down _immediately, or I will send you to Professor Dumbledore!"

Seamus panted in anger but managed to get out, "Yes, ma'am. Sorry."

"10 points from Gryffindor, and don't let me hear a _peep _out of you again," she warned, before turning dramatically and heading back for her desk.

Seamus shook his head angrily at Pansy and sat back down, looking for all his might like he wanted to jump up and beat her to a pulp.

"Merlin, someone should keep you on a leash," the Slytherin muttered haughtily, eyes flashing in disgust.

"Why? I'm not the one who _looks_ like a pug-faced mutt_,_" Seamus shot back, satisfied when Blaise had to hide a snicker.

_SMACK!_

The sound of Pansy's palm hitting Seamus' cheek resounded throughout the library.

"You piece of _filth!_" she shouted, voice a high-pitched shrill. "You can't talk to me like that, you dirty, disgusting _Mudblood_!"

"That is _it!_ Every one of you, out of my library immediately!" Madame Pince demanded, looking furious. "Out, out, out!"

But Pansy was not nearly done yet. "Do you have any _idea _what my family could do to you, Finnigan? We could _ruin _you, do you hear me?! Your precious mother, your–

"Don't you say _shit _about my mother!" Seamus roared, leaping to his feet in rage.

"Woah, now," Blaise tried to soothe, standing up immediately to put himself in between Pansy and his furious lover. "Let's just settle down for a minute."

"B-but– did you _hear _what he said to me?" Pansy squawked, indignance written all over her face. "You should be cursing him to oblivion right now instead of leaving me to fend for myself, Blaise! You're my _boyfriend, _remember?"

Unbeknownst to Blaise, Seamus grimaced nastily behind him at the reminder. "Look, Pans," the oblivious Slytherin said, making his voice low and soothing, reaching out to stroke her shoulder in comfort. "He's not worth all the trouble, okay? Don't waste your breath on him."

Seamus fists clenched at his sides, blood pumping hot and quick in angry hurt. No words were forthcoming, however, and he could only watch as Pansy gave a put-upon sigh and admitted, "Yes, I suppose you're right." She stared over Blaise's shoulder at Seamus with a disgusted expression. "He _is_ absolute filth_. _He and all of his family– simply worthless, I tell you."

Blaise nodded soberly, even as he felt Seamus' eyes burning into his neck. "Exactly, Pans," he agreed, accompanying the lie with a forced look of disgust towards Seamus. "No point in getting upset over someoneso unimportant."

Seamus' eyes flashed, and there were too many emotions in the brown irises for Blaise to interpret. He didn't think he wanted to know them at this point. "Fuck you both," the Irish boy finally snarled, before grabbing his books and storming out of the library, shoving Pansy with his shoulder as he went.

Blaise watched him go, feeling regret twinge in his stomach, and missed half of what Pansy said next. "E-er, what?" he asked, pulling himself, with an effort, out of his gaze and staring back at his girlfriend.

"I _said, _you shouldn't have let him talk to me like that!" she reiterated, sounding like an angry Chihuahua. "And he _hit _me just now, and you didn't even say a word! If this behavior keeps up, I'm going to tell your parents just how badly you're treating me!"

Blaise's eyes frosted over in irritated resentment, but he forced himself to make his tone warm. "Pansy, love," he soothed, voice like honey. "We're in the middle of a library. How civilized would it have looked to have gotten into a fistfight in here? We both would have gotten Howlers, and you know it."

She pouted, seeing his point but still holding stubbornly onto her own. "Still, you could've told him off, at least," she pointed out huffily.

He made a show of enfolding her into his arms and running his hands down her back. "I'm sorry, love, you're right," he apologized. "I should've done something more. But I promise that I won't let him get away with what he did. He'll get it later, don't you worry."

"Really?" Pansy asked, pulling back to look at him with shining, vicious brown eyes. "You promise?"

Blaise swallowed, trying to ignore the guilt eating at his stomach.

"Yes, I promise."

COMINGCLEAN

_"Ennervate."_

When Draco awoke with a gasp, he was quite certain that frostbite had set into more than one of his limbs.

He had never felt more cold in his life. His whole body was _shaking, _with bouts of spasms that had him sobbing for breath and wishing desperately for unconsciousness to take him once again; his teeth chattered loudly, and he could no longer feel his lips.

He felt like he was dying.

"It's time, Draco," said a whisper in his ear; Draco easily recognized his father's tenor and tried to sit up straight.

Unfortunately, his strength seemed to have utterly deserted him. All he managed was a stiff, awkward spasm of his upper body, and then he collapsed back onto the floor, breathing hard. "F-F-Father," he gasped, throat raw and dry. "I..."

"It seems that you may have learned your lesson. Am I correct in that presumption?" Lucius asked, staring down at his struggling son with a sharply bemused look on his face.

"Y-yes," Draco replied, teeth clanging.

"Good," Lucius approved. He pulled out his wand and raised the temperature to just slightly above freezing– enough to tell Draco he'd taken the punishment well, but not enough to tell him that he was entirely forgiven.

The small change in temperature did not affect the younger Malfoy much; he'd have needed a boiling bath at that point to have even attempted to thaw out his limbs, but he thanked his father for the reprieve anyway.

"Now,"Lucius continued, after merely nodding at the graciousness, "I have used a spell to keep you unconscious for the past several hours, so that we could set up. Now that you're awake, we are ready to begin."

_We? Set up? Begin? _Draco wondered, confused and afraid. "Y-y-yes, s-sir," he said, automatically. "J-just tell m-m-me what I n-need to d-do."

"Just do everything we ask, and you'll live, young Malfoy," said a scratchy voice to his left that he recognized immediately as Voldemort's.

"M-m'Lord," he choked, utterly surprised, fear leaping up into his throat and making it throb. "I-I apologize, I d-didn't–

"Silence," Voldemort said, just loud enough to make Draco jump. He stalked over to the prone, shaking boy, eyes narrowed in distaste.

"Son, show some respect," Lucius barked lowly, he himself bowing down to kiss Voldemort's robes.

Draco shook horribly as he moved his hands underneath him and attempted to push himself upwards; it was then that he was confronted with his lower body and realized he was still naked, and felt himself flush crimson in embarrassment. Forcefully pushing it to the back of his mind, he finally managed to tumble forward onto his knees in front of the dark wizard. Surprisingly, his broken knee did not protest to the treatment– it was so stiff from freezing through the night that he barely felt it knock jarringly into the cellar floor.

Thank Merlin for small miracles.

"Very well," Voldemort approved in his rasping voice. "Are we ready to begin, Lucius...?"

Lucius lifted his head only to murmur, "Of course, my Lord. He has been ready for this his whole life."

_Ready for what?_

"He doesn't know?" Voldemort asked sharply, glaring at Lucius.

Shit. Draco hadn't meant to say that out loud.

"W-well,. I, I just w-wanted–" his father struggled.

Voldemort's booted foot slammed into his father's stomach before the stammering man could finish. "Being initiated is an _honor,_" he snarled, eyes spitting fire at the now prone, groaning elder Malfoy. "He should have been awaiting this day in enthusiastic expectation for months. _Years._"

"Y-yes, m'lord, of course," Lucius babbled, nearly incoherent. Draco had never seen his father look so disheveled and frightened. It terrified him.

"You will pay for that mistake later, Lucius," Voldemort promised, voice like venom. "For now, we must focus on your son."

He turned towards Draco, who tried with all his might not to flinch under the piercing gaze.

"You are to be initiated tonight, Draco," the dark wizard said, relishing in the words, eyes probing deeply into the frightened blonde's. "You will join the ranks of my many brilliant followers. Tonight, you will become a Death Eater."

Draco felt like his throat was twice its natural size. He knew–he'd known, that, that at some point, he'd have to do this– but he supposed that he'd never– he'd never thought it would be so _soon_. He was only in his 6th year, after all, and-and–

–and, Merlin, he was _scared._ He wasn't nearly ready for this. He was a _kid, _for Merlin's sake. But Voldemort was staring down at him expectantly, and Draco could _feel _his father's glare on the side of his face. "Y-y-y-yes sir," he stuttered, so cold, and so frightened.

For the first time in his life, he cursed the fact that he was born into the Malfoy family, and he almost–he almost wished that he was fighting for the Light, instead of the Dark. This was too overwhelming, too painful, too difficult, he couldn't handle it–

"You're having doubts, Malfoy," Voldemort said, but he didn't sound angry. "That's quite ordinary, I assure you. Rumors of initiation tasks are rather well-spread among your generation. I can understand your...fears." He said the last word with disgust, belying his 'comforting' words.

Draco knew better than to lie. "I-I_ am_ a little frightened, s-sir," he admitted softly.

Voldemort's eyebrows rose, and his eyes revealed a small flare of respect. "You are honest, young Malfoy," he praised.

Draco swallowed and said nothing, not wanting to appear arrogant.

Voldemort nodded again. "And humble. Very good," he said, as if Draco were a dog. He turned to Lucius, glare flaring to life again. "Well, Lucius, it seems your son has made up for your insolent behavior somewhat. I believe that he is ready to be initiated."

"Y-yes, sir, he is," Lucius whispered, sounding thankful and proud of his son– but something in his eyes told Draco that he was in for a world of hurt later for upstaging his father.

"Shall we begin?" Voldemort drawled, looking back and forth amusedly between father and son, sensing the obvious message and delighting in it.

Lucius snapped out of glaring at Draco to stutter, "B-but of course, my Lord. Is everyone here?"

"I have summoned them, yes," Voldemort replied. "They should be here any moment."

Draco swallowed thickly. _They can't be serious. I'm way too young, I-I can't _do_ this..._

"Draco, I have a very special initiation planned for you," Voldemort said, a little too sharply for Draco's liking. He was quite sure his thoughts had been heard, and resolved to keep them under better control from then on. "I believe you can handle it," the dark wizard continued, "But should you collapse under the pressure, I assure you, the results will not be pretty. I do not take weakness lightly."

"Of c-course not, sir," Draco reassured, trying to regain control of his still chattering teeth.

Voldemort turned to Lucius. "Get him into place. The others are arriving."

Lucius nodded rapidly and immediately got to his feet. "Up, Draco," he whispered sharply.

But Draco still did not have the strength to even sit up, let alone stand. "L-Lu– father, I c-can't."

"Yes you can," Lucius snarled, backhanding him swiftly across the face. Draco's head snapped to the side, and he winced at the feeling of blood dripping down his cheek. His father always wore the best rings for this kind of thing.

So Draco tried. He really did. He oriented his horribly trembling arms underneath him and tried to push upwards, but they collapsed pitifully under his own weight every time.

"Am I going to have to _carry _you, Draco?" Lucius finally asked, voice so infuriated and disgusted that Draco felt his pulse double.

"N-n-no," he fervently denied, scrambling once again to obey his father's wishes. His body was simply too exhausted, though, and after a few more tries, he was panting and shaking so hard that his vision was tunneling in and his body felt like it had been electrically shocked.

"Weakling," Lucius spat, looking absolutely mortified at his son's inability to stand. Grumbling, he pulled out his wand and murmured a levitation charm, too embarrassed to actually _carry _the stupid boy.

Draco felt himself be lifted and tried not to be sick; he was starting to feel feverish and a bit nauseous, and just barely managed to regain control over his lurching stomach.

If Lucius noticed his son's sudden sickly pallor, he didn't react to it; instead, he walked over to the side of the cellar, bringing Draco along with him, and none too gently directed the floating blonde into the wall, where spelled shackles immediately locked onto his wrists and ankles, putting him in a position that made him look eerily like he was being crucified.

The pressure on his knee was excruciating. Now that it was thawing out somewhat, the pain was just that much worse– and unfortunately, the new position didn't allow for any shifting of weight. If he tried to sit, his arms wouldn't allow it; already he felt his thigh muscles shaking with the effort of keeping himself upright. It was supremely uncomfortable, and he was quite certain that that was the point.

Lucius took a moment to admire his work, then leaned in close and whispered, "Do not disappoint me, Draco."

Draco gulped, and tried not to think about what was to come. In a faint, hoarse voice, he finally managed to reply, "I won't."

COMINGCLEAN

Seamus was too busy fuming to watch where he was going; as he turned the corner to the next hallway he crashed into someone so hard it jarred his teeth and made him curse aloud.

"Damnit, watch where– Harry?" Seamus asked, startled at the realization of who it was who'd hit him. His eyes roved swiftly across the pale features of the Boy-Who-Lived, noting the working jaw and the shaking fingers clutched around a nondescript paper held at his side. "Merlin, is everything alright?" he inquired, forgetting his own anger in the face of such distress in the other boy's demeanor.

Harry swallowed, throat bobbing, and said rather hoarsely, "I'm fine, Seamus. What's– what's got _you _in such a bad mood?"

He wasn't genuinely interested, so Seamus ignored the question. "What's going on, Harry? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"I really don't have time to tell you, Seamus," Harry snapped, harsher than he'd intended. He sighed explosively and said, "Sorry. I'm kind of in a hurry. I'll fill you in later, yeah?"

Before Seamus could respond, Harry was gone, taking off down the hallway in a rushed and anxious gait.

Seamus blinked stupidly, feeling bewildered, and for a moment, had no idea what he'd been doing before Harry's odd appearance.

Interestingly enough, sometime during his glazed over confusion, Blaise rounded the corner and caught sight of him. His mouth spread in a Cheshire grin.

"Say, Finnigan, that's a rather attractive expression," he called out as he loped over to the other boy.

Sufficiently snapped out of his reverie, Seamus flinched and automatically responded in a harsh whisper, "Don't say shit like that, Zabini!"

Blaise merely looked amused as Seamus pulled him into a shadowed corner of the hallway. "Why not?" he purred once they were alone, nosing at the skin underneath Seamus' jaw. "Afraid someone will take offense to my noting your quite appealing ar–

"Shut _up!_" Seamus demanded, shoving him away, looking genuinely angry. "Merlin, you sure don't act like someone whose parents would severely punish him for being gay. Stop acting like such a faggot, or you're gonna get us both in trouble!"

Blaise's eyes went cold, and he stepped forward, face hard. "You're an arse," he said brusquely.

"So are you!" Seamus fired back, affronted, anger from moments before roaring back to life at the appearance of the other boy.

Blaise blinked at his vehemence, for a moment not remembering what he'd done wrong.

It was fuel to the fire.

"_Fuck _you, Blaise," Seamus snarled, shoving him. "You shouldn't have said that shit about me in the library!"

Oh. That. "Seamus, I was protecting both of our privacies," he said reasonably. "Would you rather I have 'defended your honor' and proclaimed our loving relationship to the world?" He scoffed. "I do have to at least _attempt_ to make this thing with Pansy look real to my parents. And obviously with your fucking homophobia, you _definitely _wouldn't have wanted that to happen." Bitterness had snuck into his voice without him realizing it.

Seamus spluttered. "W-well, you could've done _something_–

"Damnit, Seamus!" Blaise snapped, suddenly furious. Seamus shrank away from him automatically, but he paid it no mind. "You can't expect me to be your knight in shining armor, and defend you like I'd defend a _boyfriend, _and then call me a faggot in the next second! It's fucking _infuriating, _Seamus! You can't have your cake and eat it too! So when you fucking decide what the hell it is that you _want_, come and tell me, because right now, I'm _done with this_!"

He stopped, breathing hard, and made the mistake of glancing at Seamus before storming away; he caught sight of the utterly stricken face– wide, fearful brown eyes, shaky breaths, all too pale skin... and sighed.

Blaise brought a tired hand up to rub over his face. "I'm sorry," he murmured, regretfully. "I shouldn't have yelled at you like that. I didn't mean to scare you."

"Y-you didn't," Seamus whispered, but the lingering tremors in his body begged to differ. "It's just... y-you're right. You'reright." He seemed to be out of words, and he stood there for a few long moments, looking lost and uncomfortable.

Blaise sighed again, but it lacked the frustrated edge it had before. He took a careful step closer to the other boy, and opened his arms.

Seamus eyed him warily, like a frightened animal, but after a moment, cautiously stepped into his embrace.

"B-Blaise, I–

"It's alright," Blaise hushed him, before he could finish, ghosting his fingers down the quivering back. "I shouldn't have pushed you. I know this must be really difficult."

"I wish it was just you and me," Seamus suddenly said against his neck, sounding almost desperate. His fingers clutched anxiously at Blaise's back. "I wish no one else existed. Just us. And we could be t-together, and no one would care."

"I know," Blaise murmured, kissing the top of his head soothingly. "I do too. But that's not the way it is, and we've got to deal with reality."

"It's not fair," the Irish boy whispered, so softly Blaise barely heard it.

Blaise tightened his arms minutely in comfort. "I know it's not."

Seamus sighed sadly and nosed at Blaise's shoulder and inhaled his scent, taking comfort in the familiarity of it. They were silent for a few comfortable moments, and then, very quietly, Seamus asked, "Blaise...you didn't– you didn't mean any of that, did you? What you said in the library?"

It was the first time they'd ever treaded into such dangerous territory. Seamus felt Blaise tense against him, and bit his lip in uncertainty.

"Seamus..." Blaise said, in a warning tone.

But now curiosity had taken a hold of the Irish boy and refused to let go. He pulled back a little, to peer into Blaise's elusive dark eyes. "Blaise, tell me," he demanded. "Is that what you really think? That me– that me and my whole family are filth? Just because we're not pure-bloods?"

Blaise found it surprisingly difficult to ignore the pained tone in the other's voice. "Seamus, you know we agreed not to talk about this," he said lowly.

Seamus reached up to grab Blaise's chin and force him to look into his eyes. "Tell me," he whispered, voice suddenly hoarse. "Tell me I'm worthless. Tell me I'm filth because of who my parents are. Tell me you believe all of that, Blaise!"

"Seam," Blaise tried, attempting to catch the other boy's face in his hands, but Seamus dodged him and began back-pedaling out of his arms, suddenly looking horrified. "Seamus, please. Just calm down, alright?"

Seamus shook his head frantically, feeling like his world had dropped out from underneath him. "You _do_ believe it," he whispered, agonized. "You–you honestly– you weren't lying to her, forcing yourself to say those things. You actually–

"Seamus, come on," Blaise struggled, feeling as if he were watching a train wreck and was entirely unable to stop it. "I...I–

"You can't even deny it, can you?" Seamus demanded, and was horrified to feel his throat closing and his eyes burning. He hit the wall behind him and felt suddenly as if everything was coming down around him, choking him.

Blaise took a few quick steps forward, wanting to reach his lover, wanting to touch him, reassure him– but Seamus suddenly shuddered violently and took off like an animal let out of a cage, slipping clumsily around him and sprinting down the hallway. "Seamus!" he called, racing around the corner to see the other boy already several yards away and running as fast as he could.

He sighed and came to a stop, trying hard to make himself look nonchalant as a few students rounded the corner and passed by him.

"Damnit," he whispered, once they'd left. "Good one, Zabini..."

COMINGCLEAN

"You're lucky, young Malfoy," Voldemort drawled, voice silky-sounding even in its inherent roughness.

Draco swallowed and said nothing, waiting obediently for the Dark Lord to continue speaking.

Voldemort suddenly stepped closer, eyes roving over Draco's face, as if he were trying to find weakness in its features. After a moment, he looked away and began to pace once again, walking in a leisurely circle around his many bowing followers.

"You're lucky," he began again, "because your initiation task will not require much...participation... on your part."

Draco did not feel any relief at the revelation. There was still a poignant worry churning deep inside his stomach that had grabbed hold of him as soon as he'd heard Voldemort's voice after waking and would not let go; it was a terrible feeling of trepidation, a gut instinct that told him the next few hours would be the death of him.

He hadn't stopped thinking of Harry once.

"I'm sure all of us are aware of your recent...activities," Voldemort said, sharply, bringing Draco's attention back to him. A few of the Death Eaters gave a snort of vile disgust at the reminder, making the shackled blonde flinch. "As such, I have organized this initiation to be both a task to prove your loyalty, as well as a punishment to correct those mistakes. I want to drive home the point that I will _not_ tolerate pure-blooded wizards threatening the continuation of their bloodlines by partaking in such behaviors."

"Yes sir," Draco murmured, biting his lip and chewing hard.

"So, Draco, are you ready to begin?" Voldemort asked, peering at him again in that piercing way of his.

Draco nodded, throat swelling in fear. "Y-yes."

"All you must do is stand and watch a demonstration," Voldemort revealed, twirling his wand idly in his hand. "However, should your eyes close during the...festivities...one of my men will use the Cruciatus on you for increasing increments of ten seconds."

Draco shivered, remembering his contact with the curse the day before. "Y-yes, sir," he replied stiffly.

"Good. Now that you understand your instructions, we will begin." He turned to the cellar stairs and called out calmly, "Flint, you may come out now."

Siles Flint sauntered into view out from where he'd been sitting at the doorway to the basement and made his way to the center of the circle. It was then that Draco realized he wasn't alone.

At his feet, there was a small child; an innocent-looking blonde boy with wide blue eyes and a sweet cherub face.

Draco recognized him immediately. "Theo," he whispered, his cousin's name rolling off his lips before he could hold it back.

"Dwaco," the boy cried out, looking delighted. He held out his arms and ran for him, but Flint caught him by the collar and wrenched him back with a forcefulness that caused the small boy to burst into tears.

Draco felt his heart twinge at the sight. _Oh, God, no... what are they going to do to him?_

"I see you're aware of who this child is," Voldemort observed, looking pleased. "Good. That will make this task all the more...telling...should you be able to complete it."

There was doubt in his voice. Draco imagined that his father had probably heard it, and was grimacing under one of the many black hoods surrounding him.

Voldemort stepped up to Draco, ran a finger down his cheek, deceptively soft. Then he grabbed Draco's chin with a roughness that was bruising, and whispered, "What you're about to see is the truth of the disease you are battling inside of you. This is how disgusting it truly is."

With that, he turned towards Flint, and motioned for him to begin.

Draco did not know what to expect. His whole stomach was tearing itself apart in unease and intense fear for the tiny boy in front of him; his muscles shook with pain and trepidation. He wanted _out. _

He caught himself just before his eyes clenched shut, and forced himself to watch the scene that was beginning in front of him.

When he saw Flint bend down and begin to undress a crying Theo with quick, rough movements, Draco felt his stomach absolutely _sink _in realization_. _

_No. No, no, NO, they can't be serious, he's only seven, NO!_

"_Crucio!_"

Ten seconds of absolute agony, and then the curse was lifted, and he panted, feeling every limb tremble with the aftershock.

"Tsk, tsk, the fun has yet to even begin," Flint said, viciously, eyes looking a touch insane as they gazed into Draco's watery ones.

Theo looked from Draco to Flint, eyes huge and frightened. "D-dwaco? Why are you cwying?"

Draco's breath hitched in a sob, and he found that he could not answer. What could he possibly say to soothe this innocent child in front of him?

Absolutely nothing.

Flint grabbed Theo by the hair and threw him to the ground; Draco flinched violently at the thud his body made and the resulting sobbing that resounded around the room.

"P-please, d-don't hurt him," he begged, unbidden tears clogging his own throat.

Flint looked amused as he hitched down his own pants and stepped out of them.

_Oh, God, no. No!_

"I thought you said you weren't a faggot, Flint!" Draco roared, sudden determination filling him as he thrashed in his restraints. "Looks like you're about to show everyone who you truly are! You'll be known everywhere as a _fairy boy, _a _princess, _a _faggot_! I'll make sure of it, you monster!"

Flint looked furious. He glanced to his Dark Lord, who gave him a nod of approval, and that was all he needed. He stormed over to Draco and punched him in the groin, hard.

Draco screamed. His vision blacked out entirely. But when it returned, the anger had not abated at all. He coughed blood and spat, "You can do what you want to me, Flint, but I'll still know the truth! I'll know that you're marriage is a _farce, _that when you're fucking your wife all you're thinking about is little _boys, _of kissing them and–

"Shut _up!_" Flint roared, kicking out at Draco's swollen knee.

"Aagh!" Draco yelled, gasping in pain. Through his tears and snot and blood he kept on snarling, kept screaming nearly incoherent accusations at Flint, riling him up and keeping Theo safe for as long as possible.

Voldemort let it go on for only a few more moments. "Flint," he finally said, loudly. The enraged man whipped around to his Lord, demeanor changing to meek at the sight of his irritated face. "Focus on what you've been told to do. Don't let him distract you."

"Yes sir," Flint said obediently, offering Draco a hateful look before turning back to a frightened Theo.

"And you," Voldemort said to Draco, eyes narrowing. "I believe I told you to _stand_ and _watch_. If you're not able to handle this initiation task, you will not be given the Mark. You're on thin ice right now, Malfoy."

Draco wanted with surprising intensity to snarl, _I don't fucking care about the Mark, you sicko, I want to save my cousin! I don't _ever_ want to be a part of this disgusting cult! _even though he knew he'd be killed for the sentiment.

He'd always been selfish; never before had he wanted to sacrifice something of his own, let alone his _life, _for someone else.

But even if he refused the initiation and thus the Dark Mark and died for the act, who's to say Theo would come out unharmed? It was a lose-lose situation. What could he do? He was utterly trapped.

So he could only watch with deadened eyes as Theo's whimpers became louder; cries of pain, interwoven with Draco's name, sobbed in pleading; could only stand there limply as skin smacked sickeningly against skin, as innocence was stolen and shattered right in front of him because he was too much of a coward to stop it.

He lost track of time, somewhere in the middle of it, as well as how many times he'd suffered through the Cruciatus curse. At some point he'd decided that if Theo was being put through Hell, he'd be doing his damned best to be going through the same. It didn't make him feel any better– but at least, when the pain took over, he didn't have to hear Theo's cries, only his own, echoing around the room and his head with a haunted tremor that would've jarred even the coldest of hearts.

Not Voldemort's, though, it seemed. He stood, coolly and stoically, in the corner of the circle, watching Draco's agonized face, watching a child be violated without so much as a blink of an eye.

That expression, that _proof _of the fact that Voldemort had no soul to speak of, was the shifting factor in Draco.

For his whole life, he'd been prepped to be a part of this...madness.

This, right there in front of him– evil, in its purest of forms– _this _was what he'd paraded around as an honor for all his years at Hogwards; what he'd shunned countless of people away for; the one argument that had nearly tore he and Harry apart every time the latter brought it up; his life _goal_ since he'd been old enough to _have _goals.

Something...broke inside of him, at the force of the epiphany. He let out a nearly inhuman wail and began to retch. His eyes must've closed, because he felt the Cruciatus surge through him once again. He almost relished in the pain; he _deserved _it, for falling for this–this _farce. _

It went on for minutes that dragged on like separate eternities. When it was over, and he came to– at some point, he supposed he must've gone unconscious– Voldemort was in front of him, eyes roving over his face, blank and indecipherable.

"Your task is over," he said calmly. "You did...relatively well. I believe you have the potential to be a very loyal follower. It is now time for the Dark Mark."

Draco felt himself thrash weakly. His vision would not stay for more than a few seconds; it darkened and tunneled in various increments; he could not see Theo, nor Flint– had he dreamed it?

But no– there, in the corner of his eye, he saw Theo's tiny, crumpled, trembling body, being dragged towards the stairs by a nameless face, another soulless monster in Death Eater robes who'd sat back and watched such cruelty and evil be performed right in front of them.

_Like you, Draco. You did the same. _

_You deserve this. Whatever they do to you. You're the same as they are, now._

He hiccupped, and felt, for the first time, the wetness of his face, the shaking of his limbs, and the agony in his heart.

He wanted to die.

An incantation later, and he felt his arms drop from their place spread out on either side of him. He fell like a broken doll to the floor at the sudden lack of resistance; he'd been hanging on the shackles for so long that his exhausted body could not hold him up without them.

Voldemort grabbed him by the neck and pulled him upwards, telling him lowly that he would _stand _for such an honorable act. Draco obeyed listlessly, and watched as the dark wizard pulled out his wand.

"Hold out your arm," Voldemort demanded lowly.

Draco felt like someone else was in his body, making him obey. His arm, shaking and white from exposure to the cold, lifted until it was in between the two of them. Draco was oddly struck by the memory of holding out his hand to Harry all those years ago; and the two incidents were so utterly opposite that Draco almost gave a delirious cackle at the thought.

"I'm glad you're enthusiastic at this prospect," Voldemort praised, misinterpreting the bordering upon insane smile that had managed to break through on Draco's face. "That is a testament to your potential."

Draco opened his mouth with the sudden urge to tell the psycho _exactly_ what he'd been thinking about– and then let out a shocked gasp as his arm began _burning, _splitting in two, ripping, tearing, there was so much _pain_; he dropped to his knees, biting through his lips in an attempt to assuage the agony, but it was endless, it was a roaring tidal wave of sound and sensation; the world gave one awful lurch, and then went black.

_**Some time later...**_

"...Malfoy? Draco, can you hear me?"

He heard voices as if they were above water, while his head was still submerged. They sounded odd; too frantic, too concerned. He just wanted to sleep.

"Oh, my, he needs medical attention right away, Albus!"

"We've got to get him out of here before Lucius returns."

"Draco, come on, you've got to wake up. Please!"

Harry?

Reality hit Draco like a ton of bricks. He came to, gasping and wailing, thrashing as memories flew in rapid-fire images through his mind; where was Theo? Flint? Was Voldemort still there?

His arm; oh, God, his arm.

He'd gotten the Dark Mark.

"_No,_" he cried, fighting at the hands trying to hold him down. "Please, no more, _no..._"

"Shh, Malfoy! You've got to be quiet!"

But Draco could no longer control himself. It was as if there was something clanging around inside of him, clamoring to get out, writhing and hot and _painful. _His mouth opened and a loud, agonized sound came out of it, followed by choking, violent sobs that had his body rocking with the force of them.

"Draco, Draco, stop."

Low, soothing. Harry.

Arms slipped around him and pulled him forward; he felt so heavy as he was dragged against the familiar chest: a deadweight, useless and unnecessary. His shoulders heaved with cries.

"Shh, it's alright."

"Harry, m'boy, we're losing time. I'm sorry, we've got to Apparate right away."

_Dumbledore?_

"Okay, Professor."

Draco felt the arms leave him and let out a howling whimper, suddenly terrified; but then they were back and lifting him into the air.

"Hold on to me, Draco," Harry whispered into his hair, arms strong and warm as they wrapped around his waist, supporting his weight. "You're alright. I've got you."

Draco's vision cleared for a moment, and he caught sight of bright, concerned green eyes, hovering somewhere in front of him.

His lips trembled. "Harry," he whispered, hoarsely, fighting dizziness and the panic struggling to take him.

Fingers brushed over his hair, his cheeks, wet with tears and grime. "I'm right here, Draco," he said, gently. "You're safe. Everything's alright."

"N-no. You're t-too...late," Draco murmured, before falling forward against Harry's shoulder, darkness stealing over him once again.

---------------

**AN:** I warned you, didn't I? I promise, next chapter, things won't be so depressing. (I hope. I never know where my muse is going to lead me.) Please read and review. Feedback is food for the writer's soul. Especially mine, right now.

Thanks for reading.

CSTSS


	10. Tears

**AN: **Whew, this chapter hit me like a ton of bricks. I could *not* stop writing it-- it was one of those chapters where the muse grabbed ahold of me and would not let go until I'd finished. So, yeah, this one's pretty much pure inspiration. I didn't think through it, or overanalyse it, I just...wrote. And this is what happened.

I'm sorry for Harry/Draco shippers who wanted more of them in this chapter. My Blaise/Seamus muse was quite vicious when I was writing this, and refused to stop nagging me until I wrote in a monstrous, incredibly fluffy Blaise/Seamus scene. Sorry, guys. Harry and Draco will have the spotlight next time. In the mean time, I hope you like their reunion scene; it's a bit angsty, but I tried very hard to give you guys some fluff too.

In short, I'm really proud of this one, and I hope you guys enjoy it!

**Warnings:** kissing, cursing (probably, I don't remember), non-graphic description of injuries

**Pairings:** Harry/Draco, Blaise/Seamus

**Disclaimer:** Not mine :(

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For the first two days in the Hospital Wing, Draco would not let anyone touch him during the few times that he was awake. He would thrash and scream and cry until his voice was gone and his body had exhausted himself, and then he'd fall back into the chasm of unconsciousness once again. Not even Harry could calm him once he'd woken, and Madame Pomfrey was starting to get frustrated.

Finally, on the third day of his odd behavior, she put him under a spell she'd been researching that would keep him unconscious for twenty-four hours, a difficult incantation that required more magic than its counterpart, _Ennervate._ She spent the better part of the given day and the night working on his injuries, the most prominent of which being his broken knee and his frostbitten extremities.

Harry never left his side as she worked, staying a calm and steady presence by Draco's bed while he slept through the spell work. Madame Pomfrey did not question him about it, choosing instead to focus solely on her patient, who was looking healthier by the hour.

It was only when Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley stormed into the Hospital Wing about three fourth's of the way through that things threatened to spiral downwards.

"Harry, we've been worried sick!" Hermione fretted, hurrying over to him to give him a tight hug.

"Yeah, we figured you'd gone on a mission with Dumbledore, and had gotten hurt really badly!" Ron chimed in, looking just as stressed out as his girlfriend.

Harry, who had _just_ managed to scurry out from behind the screen hiding Draco's bed before his friends had found him, forced a reassuring grin as he stiffly patted Hermione's back. "S-sorry, mate," he said kindly to Ron. "I'm fine, really. Nothing to be worried about."

"Well, aren't you going to tell us what's going on?" Hermione admonished, pulling back to look searchingly at him.

He groaned and avoided her probing eyes, knowing that she could see through any lies he attempted to make. "Herm, really, everything's fine," he insisted. "I would've told you if something bad had happened."

_As if Draco getting the life beaten out of him isn't a 'bad thing', _Harry's mind protested brusquely.

She looked at him doubtfully, unaware of his internal battle. "Why are you in Hospital Wing, then? Are you hurt?"

"Just a few minor things," he lied, shrugging uncomfortably. "I was just on my way out, actually."

She pursed her lips, obviously suspicious, but said nothing.

"Want to get some dinner, then?" Ron asked, oblivious. "Only if you're feeling up to it."

Harry glanced back to where Draco was resting, and felt torn. He was ravenously hungry– he hadn't left the blonde's side since they'd arrived– but he really didn't want to leave him. Ever since the night of the rescue when he'd heard that strangled whimper from the other boy after letting go of him for a mere second, he just couldn't bring himself to leave him alone. He'd looked so _terrified, _at the thought of Harry leaving him; the Gryffindor never wanted to see him look that way ever again.

"Well?" Ron prompted, waving a hand in front of his face, snapping him out of his reverie.

"Err–yeah," Harry answered automatically, regretting the words as soon as they came out of his mouth.

"Great!" Ron exclaimed, clapping him on the back. "Let's go."

Hermione beamed at him and laced their arms together, then the three of them made their way out of the Hospital Wing, two faces looking pleased, the other looking pinched and worried.

Harry could only pray that he'd be able to escape back to Draco before his twenty-four hour forced unconsciousness was over.

He just didn't want the other boy to wake up alone.

COMINGCLEAN

Seamus hadn't been in classes for three days.

Blaise was starting to get extraordinarily worried, which was a very foreign feeling for him. He'd been keeping his eye out for the elusive Irish boy, and had surreptitiously asked a few teachers and students about his whereabouts, but no information had been forthcoming.

He didn't know what to do. He felt completely at a loss.

And to top it all off, Pansy was getting more and more demanding. She tried to seduce him at every chance she got, and any time they were alone it was like trying to fight off an animal in heat. It was infuriating, and Blaise was at his wits end.

"Blaisey, do you want to go up to my room before we head to Potions?" said Slytherin asked, lowering her eyelids in what she thought was a seductive manner.

"A-Actually, I was planning on visiting Draco," Blaise said stiffly, trying to ignore the way the girl pressed into his side.

She pouted, put-upon and melodramatic. "I should be more important to you than_ him_. Plus, it's social suicide to even mention his name these days, Blaise. You know that."

Blaise scowled. "He's still my friend, regardless of what that idiot Flint says or does."

"Well, you certainly weren't acting like his 'friend' when 'that idiot' was beating his face in in the common room," Pansy pointed out, rather nastily.

Wincing, Blaise muttered, "There would have been no point in that, and you know it. It would've been two against the entire Slytherin student body. Pretty stupid, if you ask me."

"You never know, you could've inspired others to stand up for him," she argued stubbornly.

"Yeah well I didn't see _you _doing anything to help your beloved 'darling Draco', either!" Blaise snapped, irritated. He yanked himself away from her clinging hold and said waspishly, "Look, I'm going to the Hospital Wing. Don't wait up."

"B-but, Blaise!"

He paid her annoyed cry no harm and stalked away from her, fuming. Truthfully, the extent of his anger was a bit of an act– while the incident with Draco was indeed a sensitive topic for him, considering the fact that he regretted leaving his friend so high and dry, both he and Draco had agreed that it had been the best thing to do– and he'd pretty much gotten over the leftover guilt.

But Pansy didn't need to know that.

He sighed and picked up his pace, knowing that he only had about twenty minutes before dinner began to say hello to Draco. He hadn't had time in the last few days to visit him– too busy trying to find a certain irate Irish boy, he supposed– so he figured he'd better get on with it, lest he face the wrath of the injured Slytherin.

He winced a little as he rounded the corner, wondering just how badly the younger Malfoy had been hurt. He'd helped the other boy with the injuries he'd received at the hands of his malicious father many times before, and he knew just how cruel the latter could be for even the tiniest discrepancies– something as large as the scandal Draco had been involved in... he could only imagine the horrors his friend had faced during his most recent stay at the Manor.

After a few more minutes of walking, he finally came to the doors of the Hospital Wing, and was about to push them forward when he was suddenly knocked to the side by several frantic individuals.

"Move, move! Out of the way!" someone shouted, shoving Blaise further away as the panicked group hurried through the doors, a limp, bloody body held in between them.

Blaise caught sight of brown hair and all too familiar features before the frazzled teachers whisked him away towards the very back of the Wing.

"S-Seamus," Blaise breathed, utterly floored. _No, it couldn't have been...you were seeing things, Zabini._

But the harsh tug in his heart and the sickness in his stomach betrayed his thoughts and propelled him forward on wobbly legs; the world felt too loud, too vibrant as he followed the clump of people through the Wing, and when the body in their arms was finally lowered upon a chosen bed, giving Blaise full sight of its identity, he felt that it had entirely slipped out from underneath him.

_Oh, God, Seamus._

He was pale, so _pale_; his features looked pinched and white under the bright lights; but that was not all, not nearly all; no, no, the most horrifying thing was his _arms,_ his torn apart, bleeding arms; everywhere Blaise looked there were deep, angry slices– ragged skin against scarlet, so red; morbidly red against his white skin... Blaise felt his stomach roil and could not help the sickness that rose in his throat.

"Young man, what are you doing here!?" someone fretted; he could not see her face, the world was blurring and lurching around him.

"Young man! Hello, can you hear me?! Oh, for goodness' sake– Poppy, get over here, quick!"

And then everything went black.

COMINGCLEAN

Harry was ridiculously restless as Ron and Hermione chattered at him through a long dinner. He could barely even manage to eat, despite the fact that he was ravenously hungry. His whole body was thrumming with anxiety, as if sensing an imminent danger just around the corner even though his mind couldn't seem to put a finger on it.

"...right, Harry?"

"Err–what?" he asked intelligently, forcing himself to pay attention to his friends.

"I _said, _you and Ginny are gonna get together soon, right?" Ron repeated, eyebrows stitched in agitation.

Harry, strangely, felt the breath leave him for a moment, then come back with a sickening whoosh. "U-um," he stammered, trying to recover from the odd reaction. "I dunno, Ron. I haven't really put a time-line on it."

Ron scoffed. "Are you just planning on leaving her hanging then, mate?"

"Yeah, Harry, she's been talking about it for a long while," Luna pointed out, gazing at him in that piercing way of hers. "I believe she's quite enamored with you."

At the words, Harry's stomach flipped in that same strange way; and his mind, inexplicably, brought up a few rapid, racing memories of Draco: blonde hair and glistening lips, beautiful in the throes of arousal; features twisted in terror after waking, soothed by only Harry's touch; stormy grey eyes lit with passion; broken, bruised skin; a strangled whimper that rocked Harry to the core; the shaky murmur of his name, his _first_ name, rare and beautiful like a finely honed jewel...

"Harry, what's going _on _with you today?" Ron demanded, eyes roving over his friend's face, as if the answer to his question lie within Harry's faraway expression.

"I-I'm sorry, mate," Harry said, earnestly. He rubbed his hands over his face and sighed. "I'm just still not feeling very well. I think I should've stayed in the Hospital Wing for a little bit longer."

Ron looked abashed, and Harry immediately felt guilty for the lie. "Oh, well,...feel free to leave if you need to, mate," he said, regretfully. "I didn't mean to pressure you, you know, if you needed to–

"Nonsense, Ron, I was the one who said yes," Harry easily reassured. "Anyway, I think I'm gonna go back and get some rest. I'll see you all tomorrow, yeah?"

"Okay, Harry," Hermione said, looking concerned. "We'll come by to check on you later tonight."

"Oh, you don't have to do that, Herm," Harry said, a bit too quickly. "I'll probably just be asleep anyway."

Hermione's eyes narrowed shrewdly. "Well, then, we'll see you whenever you feel better," she murmured.

Harry bit his lip, feeling like he'd been caught. "Yeah, okay. See you," he said stiffly. He turned to leave, only to run right into Ginny.

"O-oh, Harry, sorry!" she apologized hurriedly, looking flustered. Then she seemed to realize that it was _Harry, _and she launched herself at him, throwing her arms around his shoulders and squeezing tight. "Oh, _Harry, _I was so worried about you these past few days," she whispered into his neck, lips warm on his skin, but somehow the wrong sort of heat.

Harry patted her back awkwardly, suddenly realizing just how _strange _she felt in his arms; the planes of her body were too smooth, too soft, lacking the hard, strong planes of Draco's build; she didn't _fit _against him in the exquisite, effortless way that Draco did; her hair was scratchy and thick underneath his chin, instead of baby fine and thin, like Draco's silky blonde strands. It just seemed...wrong, somehow. And Harry couldn't ignore nor deny it.

He pushed the kind girl away, gently, and said, as neutrally as he could, "I apologize for making you worry, Ginny. I'm fine."

Her fingers found his hand and squeezed concernedly. "Are you sure, Harry? You look...exhausted."

He calmly extricated his hand from hers and said quietly, "Yeah, I'm pretty tired. I'm actually still feeling a little under the weather, so I'm gonna go to the Hospital Wing and rest. I'll see you later, though, okay?"

Before she even had a chance to answer, he waved and brushed past her, suddenly charged with the urge to see Draco, to touch him, to just _be _with him, without all of these interruptions. He was all that mattered to Harry's muddled, exhausted mind and body.

It was a frightening realization, that. But, strangely, it wasn't really bothering him, at that moment, rushing to the Hospital Wing. His thoughts were only on Draco.

When he pushed through the doors of the Hospital Wing, he was shocked to find utter chaos in front of him.

Near the back of the Wing, on the other side of the room from Draco, there was a flurry of people– nurses, teachers, Mediwizards– all centered around one bed, frantically circling it, casting spells over it, adjusting blankets and limbs to work with the magic– it was craziness, pure and simple. Harry felt his heart jolt in his chest.

What had happened?

He took a step forward to check it out, and it was then that he heard, over the bustling noise coming from the back of the room, the sound of familiar, haunted screaming.

Draco.

Harry forgot entirely about the other bed and took off towards his lover's, panic making sound rush in his ears and pound in his heart, a steady pulse that reverberated in his legs as his feet slammed against the floor.

What seemed like an eternity later, he threw back the curtain surrounding Draco's bed, and ran inside. The blonde was thrashing, eyes open wide but unseeing the reality around him, only the horrors in his mind; his cheeks were red and wet with tears, and his mouth was straining with gasps and pleas that latched onto Harry's heart and squeezed _hard._

"Draco," Harry murmured, hoarsely. Anger thrummed through him at the fact that the boy had been left alone, but it was quickly abandoned and replaced by a fervent need to help him.

The blonde quite suddenly curled onto his side, and lay there trembling, murmuring incoherent pleas into the pillow, which was clutched tight in his white-knuckled hands. Harry cautiously stepped forward, simultaneously relieved and concerned by the other's sudden lack of movement. "Draco, it's Harry," he said, a little louder. "Can you hear me?"

The blonde merely shook, but Harry was encouraged by the lack of violence in his behavior. He stepped closer, and very carefully laid a gentle hand on the boy's shoulder.

Draco whipped around, eyes wide and frightened, but did not make any move to pull away from Harry's touch.

Harry squeezed softly, even more encouraged, locking eyes with the gradually clearing grey irises. "Draco?" he tried again, lowly. "Are you...are you awake, now?"

Draco swallowed thickly, throat bobbing. "Do I..." he paused, coughed thickly. "Do I look like it, Potter?" His eyes sparked dully, a mere shadow of the familiar snark Harry was used to, but it was the first sign of _Draco _he'd had in three days, and it was more than enough.

Before Harry could even think through what he was doing, he was pulling the other boy to his chest, arms wrapping around his thin, bruised body with a somehow gentle ferocity that had them both trembling with the emotional force of the embrace. "Draco," he whispered into the grimy blonde hair, kissing it, stroking it, affection and some other emotion surging through him, making it impossible to stop touching the other boy. "Draco..."

The blonde scrabbled with weak limbs to return the embrace, not even trying to stop the sudden tears as they rose in his eyes and slipped down his cheeks, wetting the skin of the other boy's neck. "I-I d-didn't want it," he whispered, nonsensically. "P-please believe me..."

"I know," Harry said, even though he didn't. "I know, it's alright. Shh."

Draco gave up trying to explain, because his throat was too large and his eyes were aching. Instead, he clutched Harry's robes in his clammy hands and pressed his face into the smooth hollow of one strong shoulder until all he could see, smell, _feel, _was Harry. His world narrowed down to the boy in front of him, to the way their hearts beat in tandem, where their chests were pressed firmly together; and at that moment– it was all he needed.

A few minutes later, when unconsciousness stealthily took him once again, he was not afraid.

He knew Harry would be there when he woke.

COMINGCLEAN

"...bini? Mr. Zabini, can you hear me?"

Blaise blinked blearily and gave a poignant groan. "Wh–what's going on? Where am I?"

"You're in the Hospital Wing," the impatient woman told him, passing her wand over his body as she checked his vitals. "You passed out about ten minutes ago."

_Hospital Wing. Blood. _

_Seamus._

All at once, everything came back to him. He snapped up, fighting off dizziness, and demanded, "Seamus. Where's Seamus? Is he alright?"

"Mr. Finnigan is being tended to by Madame Pomfrey," the nurse said tersely, pushing him back down and raising her wand over his body. "He will be fine as long as she is not distracted from her task. If you'd like to see him, I'd recommend you stay here and rest until she's finished."

_Like hell I will, _was what he was thinking, but he forced himself to give a polite, "Well, alright, then."

She eyed him suspiciously, but said nothing. She whispered a few more spells to reduce his nausea and any leftover aches, then pulled back and said, "You should be fine, Mr. Zabini. I suspect you simply fainted due to an excess of stress and shock. With a little rest, you'll feel as good as new. You may stay here for as long as you need to recover."

Blaise nodded, making a show of getting comfortable and preparing for sleep. "Thanks, miss," he mumbled, sleepily. "If someone wouldn't mind waking me when Seamus...?"

"I'll try, Mr. Zabini, but I can't promise anything," she said, but her voice had lost some of its chill. "Have a good rest. And, try not to worry too much about your friend. Madame Pomfrey is very good at what she does."

With a reassuring smile and one last adjustment of his sheets, she bowed out under the curtain pulled around his bed and left.

As soon as she was gone, Blaise swung his legs over the side of his bed and waited for the dizziness to pass before standing up and walking towards the curtain the nurse had just left from. He carefully opened it just enough so he could see beyond it, and, miraculously, saw that he was mere feet away from Seamus' bed, whose curtain hadn't been closed in the midst of the chaos.

The sight of the Irish boy looking so sick and pale made his heart lurch once again, but the all-out nausea was gone; he suspected it had something to do with the fact that his lover's arms were now thickly bandaged, and the red, torn skin was no longer visible.

Madame Pomfrey was standing over him, wand poised over his body, face pinched with exhaustion but eyes shining with determination and focus. Blaise watched her for a moment, trying to gauge from her movements and expressions whether or not Seamus was in any immediate danger; but she seemed quite calm– much calmer than before, at least, when Seamus had first been brought in by that swarm of panicking wizards.

He breathed a quiet sigh of relief, but he supposed it hadn't been quiet enough. Madame Pomfrey's eyes snapped up, shrewd and piercing, immediately finding Blaise's, peeking out from behind the curtain.

"Mr. Zabini," she said calmly, without moving her wand or losing her focus.

Blaise cursed, and slowly made his way out from behind the curtain, looking sheepish. "Sorry, Madame Pomfrey. I was just..."

"Worried about your friend, I understand," she finished for him. She gave a brief nod down to Seamus. "You may come over here and sit with him, if you'd like. The emergency period has passed, and he's been stabilized. I no longer require the utmost concentration that I did before."

Blaise nodded, biting his lip as he took a few cautious steps forward. His legs felt shaky underneath him, and his heart thudded in his chest. He finally made it over to the bed, and had to force himself not to touch the other boy. All he wanted to do was smooth his hair back; run his fingers down the pale cheek; stroke the hollow of his neck, where he was most sensitive... it physically hurt him to have to restrain himself, but he couldn't risk revealing their relationship, not to anyone.

"He's doing much better," Madame Pomfrey offered as she finally pulled her wand away from his body and wiped her brow. "He's fighting off the infection wonderfully, which means I can fully close up the cuts in a few hours."

Blaise bit his lip and nodded. "Good," he said, a little faintly.

Madame Pomfrey gazed at him knowingly. "I have to go check on another one of my patients," she said. "If you wouldn't mind staying with him...?"

"Of course I'll stay," Blaise said, much too quickly. He coughed awkwardly. "I mean, yeah. That's fine."

She smiled, a bit wearily. "Thank you, Mr. Zabini. Call for me if anything troublesome happens."

Blaise nodded and watched her leave, then walked over to close the curtain around the bed. He turned back to Seamus, and at the sight of him in such a condition, he felt his throat, surprisingly, give a poignant throb.

"Merlin, Seam," he breathed, reaching out to clutch at the other boy's limp fingers, finally letting himself feel the fear and the pain and the guilt that came with the realization of what Seamus had done. "Why would you... why would you _do_ something like this?"

He was met with stony silence, and he sighed, shaking his head in exasperated sadness. He supposed he'd just have to wait until–

"M'...m'sorry," came a weak, raspy whisper.

"Seamus!" Blaise nearly yelped, snapping upwards, eyes wide in surprise. "You're awake! Oh, I should get Madame Pomfrey–

He turned to do just that, but stopped short when Seamus grasped his fingers and squeezed weakly.

"N-no. Stay."

Blaise couldn't say no to that, and sat down with a sigh on the edge of the bed, finally giving into the urge to reach out and run his hands through his lover's thick brown hair. Seamus closed his eyes and breathed, letting the feeling of Blaise's fingers lull him into relaxation.

"Seamus," Blaise said softly, stroking the other's forehead, smoothing over the creased skin. "Talk to me, please. Why did you do this?"

Seamus swallowed past the lump in his throat. "I..." He coughed, tried again. "I was...so...angry. Got...carried away."

"Angry?" Blaise repeated gently, tucking a lock of brown behind one soft ear. "At me?"

Seamus shook his head, dislodging the strands. Blaise smoothed them back, and Seamus shivered as his fingertips ghosted over that spot behind his ear. "Not you," he corrected. "At... me."

Blaise's eyebrows furrowed, confused. "Why would you be angry at yourself?"

Seamus grimaced, looked down at his arms, bandaged and throbbing at his sides. "Because _I_ allowed you... to get close enough... to hurt me."

Blaise felt like he'd been socked in the gut. His fingers stilled on Seamus' face, and he slowly pulled them back, bringing them to rest in his lap, where they trembled faintly. "I'm... I'm sorry," he murmured, completely at a loss. "I didn't mean..."

Seamus' heart gave an unexpected lurch at the hurt in the other's demeanor. "Blaise, no," he said gently, reaching up to cover the shaking fingers with his own. "It's my fault. I shouldn't have..expected you to change, so quickly. Your beliefs– they're like... my homophobia. Ingrained since...birth."

Blaise turned over the smooth white hand in his lap, interlaced their fingers and squeezed, waiting for Seamus to continue.

"But...in the moment, I just couldn't...control myself. My thoughts." The Irish boy paused, bit his lip in embarrassment. "I didn't mean for it to...go this far."

Blaise frowned, but tried to make it look reassuring. "Have you hurt yourself before?" he asked, gently.

Seamus looked down, unable to meet the other's eyes. "Yeah," he muttered softly.

Blaise swallowed thickly. "Because of me?"

This time it was Seamus squeezing their fingers together. "No. Because of...everything. Denial. Fear. Guilt. Too many...emotions. The pain made me..calm."

Blaise bit his lip. He didn't understand, but he wanted to. He was silent for a minute, unsure of how to respond. "I shouldn't have said those things in the library," he finally said, still feeling guilt over the incident.

"I shouldn't have...pushed you to change," Seamus conceded.

There was a small moment of silence.

"Well, I've been pretty patient with you and your homophobia," Blaise said, trying to smile a little. The edges were brittle and sad. "Do you think you could be the same with me? Give me a chance to...redeem myself?"

Seamus returned the smile, lips curving gently. "Of course," he murmured, reassuringly. "I don't want...to lose you."

"You won't," Blaise said immediately, then blushed at the quickness of the response. "I mean, if you want me to stay, that is–

"Blaise, stop," Seamus interrupted. "Of course I do."

His eyelids lowered, and he gazed up at Blaise, shy and uncertain. "Would you...kiss me?" he finally asked, under his breath.

Blaise's throat went dry. Very rarely did Seamus like to kiss on the lips– it indicated some sort of heterosexual idea of intimacy, Blaise supposed– but he certainly wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth. He slowly, carefully bent over the other boy's body, fingers drifting up over the smooth abdomen to rest on the curve of his jaw, cradling there gently. Their noses touched, soft and teasing. Blaise felt Seamus' nervous breath puffing out against his lips, and his own mouth quirked in a smile.

"Relax," he murmured, eyes shining. "I don't bite."

Seamus licked his lips. "What if I want you to?" he whispered.

Blaise's stomach flipped, and before he knew it he'd smashed their lips together in a hot, heady kiss.

"So...hot," he groaned into Seamus' mouth, biting at the smooth skin of his bottom lip. "Fuck..."

Seamus smiled, then gasped as Blaise's tongue slipped past his lips, sending a shock of pure arousal through his veins. He arched into the kiss, giddy with the pleasure of it all, and curled his hands around the other boy's back, content to hold on and allow Blaise to take the lead.

Blaise pulled back a little to nose down Seamus' jaw, pressing soft, lingering kisses to the warm skin, then returned to the full lips, unable to stay away from them for long. Their mouths moved together, fast and heady; after a few long, breathless moments, the kiss gradually slowed to something less sexual; a tender press of lips, a slow, easy glide of tongues; beautiful, in its simple perfection.

"Mm," Blaise hummed, nipping gently at his lover's lips. "This–

Someone suddenly cleared their throat, and both boys abruptly pulled away from each other; in the tussle, Blaise's scrambling hands knocked one of Seamus' arms, causing the Irish boy to cry out hoarsely in pain.

"Shit, Seamus," Blaise cursed, hurriedly bending over the other boy, touching his face, his hair– anything to soothe him.

"I'm...alright," Seamus rasped, but his eyes were agonized– though not because of physical pain; they were filled with intense fear and trepidation.

That's when Blaise realized that whoever had caught them was still standing behind them, and was now holding back snickers.

He whirled around to see Harry Potter himself, looking supremely amused by the two of them.

"Potter," Blaise said, as neutrally as he could, even as embarrassment and thinly veiled fear burst through him.

"Hey, Zabini," Harry greeted, eyes shining. He leaned to the side, offered Seamus a concerned wave. "Hey, Seamus." He shook his head for a moment, looking incredulous. "Man, I can't believe Malfoy had it right, this whole time..."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Blaise asked, standing to his full height in front of the equally tall Gryffindor.

Harry smirked, the expression looking a little foreign on his face. "Nothing, Zabini," he said, dismissing it. He moved to brush past the boy and head to Seamus' side, but Blaise grabbed his arm before he could, grip hard.

"If you tell anyone about this..."

Harry shook him off, eyes cold. When he spoke, his voice was surprisingly bitter. "Trust me, Zabini. I've seen how cruel the world can be when it finds out about '_our kind'_ of relationships. I'd never put my friend through that."

Blaise blinked, a bit stunned, and watched as the other boy went to talk to Seamus. The Irish boy, though, had his eyes clenched shut and refused to say anything. He was breathing as if he'd just played two matches of Quidditch, and his limbs were trembling violently. Blaise felt his heart jump into his throat.

"Potter, I think he needs to rest," he said, barely succeeding in disguising the worry in his voice.

Harry frowned. "I can see that." He tried to speak to Seamus once again, asking him if he needed anything, if he was alright; but the other kept completely mum, merely laying there, shaking. Harry sighed and turned away, allowing Blaise to see, for the first time, how utterly exhausted the Boy-Who-Lived looked. His eyes were bloodshot and red, there were deep, dark smudges underneath his lashes, and his skin was pale and sickly looking.

"Looks like you could use some rest yourself," Blaise muttered.

Harry sighed again and rubbed his hands over his face. "Yeah," he agreed, in a tired murmur. He looked up, and forced a weary smile. "Well, tell Seamus when he feels better that I wish him well, and that I'll be by later."

Blaise nodded, wanting to rush him out, but merely said, "Alright, I will."

Harry seemed to notice his impatience, and gave a brisk nod before taking a few steps away from the bed. As he passed Blaise, he said quietly, "Be a little more careful, next time. Not everyone would have reacted as kindly as I did."

With that, he was gone, leaving Blaise alone once again with Seamus.

Blaise felt a moment of irritation towards Potter, but was quickly brought back to the situation at hand when his lover gave one poorly disguised whimper from the bed.

"Seam?" he said softly, walking towards the other boy, whose head was turned away from him. He sat down once again and reached out, touching the strong chin and bringing it towards him. "Tell me where it hurts. Do you need me to get Madame Pomfrey?"

Seamus' eyes opened to meet his lover's, and they were absolutely _tortured_, surprising Blaise entirely. "Did you see...his face?" the Irish boy asked hoarsely, chest heaving with sharp gasps.

"What?" Blaise asked, bewildered. "What are you talking about? Seamus, what's wrong?"

Seamus swallowed convulsively, breaths quick and anxious, sounding extraordinarily loud in the small space. "He–he _laughed, _Blaise– he, he was dis-disgusted by it–by us," he whispered, agonized. "And now–now he's gonna t-tell, tell everyone–and they'll all _h-hate _me."

All at once, Blaise realized what had happened.

"No, no, Seam, you misunderstood," Blaise hurried to soothe, leaning forward to cradle the boy's face in his hands. Familiar eyes filled with wetness, and Blaise crumbled. "Seamus, hush, it's alright," he insisted, wiping away the tears before they could fall. "You're tired, and in pain, and you misinterpreted. He won't tell anyone, I promise you. Didn't you hear what he said? He told me he'd never put you through that." He paused, eyes roving the depths of the other boy's, seeing the uncertainty lingering there; the fear. "He'd be the last person to be disgusted by you, Seamus," he murmured, brushing back a few locks of brown hair. "He's sleeping with Draco Malfoy, remember? A _boy_. This," he gestured in between them, "does not bother him. Okay?"

Seamus bit his lip, still looking doubtful, but less pained, at least. "I guess," he whispered. "I'm...sorry I'm acting like this. Dunno where it's...coming from."

Blaise smiled, fondly, brushing away tears with his thumbs. "It's alright. It's been a long, stressful day for you. You just need to rest."

Seamus nodded and let out a shuddering sigh, then turned to press a gentle kiss to Blaise's palm. "Thank you," he murmured.

Blaise ran his thumb over the smoothness of Seamus' bottom lip. "Not a problem."

Seamus' eyes fluttered closed. "Will you stay, till I fall asleep?"

It was a surprisingly corny request, especially coming from Seamus– which made Blaise smile even wider. He suspected his lover was nearing delirium. "Of course," he agreed, leaning forward to press his lips against each slick eye-lid, kissing away any leftover tears.

As he pulled back, Seamus caught his lips with his own in a sweet, chaste kiss. "Goodnight," he whispered, shyly.

Blaise felt a surge of warmth flood through him. "Goodnight."

_I'm falling in love with you, Seamus Finnigan._

Seamus' let himself relax into the bed and began to breathe evenly, feeling secure with Blaise at his side.

_I think I might love you, Blaise Zabini._

---------------------

**AN:** Are you dying from the fluff yet? xD

Hope you liked it; please read and review! I appreciate every single bit of support you guys give me. It means the world!

Much love~

CSTSS


	11. Recoveries

**AN:** Soo, my self-esteem's kind of on a roll right now, and I'm actually sort of proud of this chapter too, lol. Anyway, it's kind of filler-ish, but it has A LOT of Harry/Draco, so for all you irritable reviewers, there you go! haha

ALSO, just a quick thing to address-- a very awesome reviewer (who I don't feel like finding the name of at the moment lol) let me know that I had the Draco's rescue team Apparate on Hogwarts grounds-- which I know is not allowed, but I totally blanked on that little detail when I was writing. SO, I'm sorry, if it disturbed anyone's reading, and when I get the chance I'll revise it to be a Portkey. Sorry again for that mistake!

That's bout it, folks. Hope you enjoy!

**Warnings:** medical explanations, cursing

**Pairings:** Harry/Draco, Blaise/Seamus

**Disclaimer:** Not mine!

------------------

"Take it easy," Harry said fretfully, fingers clenching anxiously at his sides as he watched his lover, who was attempting to stand for the first time since he'd returned from the Manor.

"Shut _up, _Potter, I'm fine," Draco snapped, irritated. "Stop hovering."

Harry resisted the urge to stick his tongue out at the other boy and obliged, holding his hands up in surrender as he stood back joined Madame Pomfrey at the back of the room.

Draco nodded approvingly and scooted to the edge of the bed, ignoring his own fluttering feelings of nervousness as he prepared to get up. This would be the true test of how well his knee had healed; Madame Pomfrey had tried her best, using the most advanced spells and medicines in her inventory to fix it, but the break had been quite messy, and added in the rough treatment, the Crucios, and the forced hypothermic state– it had been quite a difficult injury to treat.

Now it was time to see how far her efforts had gone to repairing the damage.

Draco sighed, and it was a shaky sound. Finally, he pushed himself forward, and gingerly got to his feet.

There was a moment of pure jubilation– she'd done it; everything was fine!–

—and then his knee seemed to realize that there was weight on it, and it abruptly buckled underneath him.

He hit the ground with a sickening crash.

"Draco!" Harry cried, sprinting for him.

Draco's mouth opened in a howl of pain. It _hurt._

"Lie still, lie still," Harry soothed, hands gently moving the boy until he was lying horizontally on the ground, legs extended in front of him. He scooted over and brought Draco's upper body into his lap, cradling him to his chest while Madame Pomfrey began checking on his leg. "You're alright, it's okay," he reiterated gently, the arms wrapped around Draco's thin waist squeezing reassuringly.

The blonde curled against him, fisting shaking fingers into his shirt, trying to ignore the jolts of pain as they surged. "Hurts," he whispered hoarsely.

"I know it does," Harry said, heart clenching, stroking the fair blonde hair in a gesture of comfort. "Just hang on. It's alright."

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Malfoy," Madame Pomfrey said anxiously as she pressed her fingers against his knee. "I did not realize your knee would not be able to handle your weight yet. I should've waited longer before allowing you to attempt to stand."

Draco swallowed thickly, body shuddering with sensation. "It's...okay," he choked out, gasping against Harry's throat. "Did I–did I damage it, even more?"

"I'm assessing that right now," she said, distractedly. "Just give me a moment."

Draco nodded and bit his lip as the pain ravaged his senses. Harry was a warm and steady presence at his side, holding him and reassuring him in a way that, strangely, did not make him feel uncomfortable; in fact, he'd never felt more safe and secure in his life. He pressed still closer, inhaling the now familiar scent of the other boy, and it eased away some of the pain.

Harry pressed a kiss to his temple, absently acknowledging the movement, but his eyes were focused on Madame Pomfrey, whose face was twisted in distress.

"Er... Madame Pomfrey, is something wrong? You look...worried," he couldn't stop himself from asking, biting his lip in trepidation. He felt Draco still in his arms, equally afraid, and gave him a light squeeze.

The tired woman finally sat back from his knee and sighed, blowing sweaty bangs off from her face. "Mr. Malfoy... Draco," she amended, the correction making the other boy even more frightened. "I'm afraid it looks as if...I'm going to have to reconstruct your knee entirely."

"What?" Draco hissed, horrified. He'd figured after douse of Skele-gro and a few potions, he'd be as good as new. And now... "_Why?_"

She rubbed her hands over her face and shook her head, obviously stressed. "I tried to simply regrow the broken bone," she began again, sighing heavily. "But unfortunately, that did not hold– because there are also hairline fractures all around the area."

"Shouldn't you have been aware of any other fractures _before _I tried to stand?" Draco snapped, fear, exhaustion, and anger making his temper snap.

Harry opened his mouth to admonish him, but Madame Pomfrey was faster.

"Young man, don't you think I _realize_ I made that mistake?" the woman asked, voice surprisingly tight with tension, eyes bright and furious. Her finger lifted to point at him sharply. "You had an overwhelmingly extensive amount of injuries, most of which required _immediate _attention– and I did the best I could just to keep you _alive, _Mr. Malfoy! As a result, some of my wand work may have been bit haphazard, and I was not able to detect the hairline fractures. For that, I am sorry– but I will not sit here and be reprimanded by a _child, _whose life I just saved, is that clear?"

Draco felt utterly stricken. He swallowed, once, twice, then met her gaze sheepishly. "I'm sorry," he said, hoarsely. "I shouldn't have–

"Let's just move on, shall we?" she said briskly, eyes cold. "I'm going to need you to be moved back to the bed. Once you're settled, I'm going to begin the process of reconstructing your knee. Be warned, Mr. Malfoy, it _will _be painful. Incredibly so."

Harry's arms tightened briefly, and Draco took comfort in the embrace. "Okay," he murmured weakly.

Madame Pomfrey stood and adjusted Draco's bed sheets, then indicated for him to come lay down.

Draco went to attempt standing himself, but Harry immediately said, "No, Draco. You don't want to make it any worse."

Draco huffed, but it was only for show; he'd known that Harry, with his Gryffindorish sense of duty, would most likely have come to his aid– but he hadn't wanted to appear dependent upon him. If Harry noticed his thought process, he made no comment, merely slipped an arm carefully underneath his knees and hefted him up much too easily off the ground.

Draco's breath left him in a whoosh as he was suddenly brought up to Harry's chest, with the boy's beautiful green eyes staring directly into his own, lips full and glistening, close enough to kiss.

"O-oh. Harry."

A breathy whisper.

Harry's pulse doubled, and his world narrowed down to the piercing grey gaze, and the thin, bow-shaped lips in front of his own. He leaned forward, mesmerized, eyes fluttering closed–

He tried to find it ironic, and not supremely irritating, when Madame Pomfrey cleared her throat behind them, stopping their imminent kiss before it could happen.

Draco flinched visibly, seeming to come back to himself, and demanded, "Put me down, Potter."

Harry scowled, but it was mostly self-directed. When had he stopped caring whether or not people found out about their relationship?

He sighed, resolving to think about it later, and gently laid the other boy down on the hospital bed, being careful not to jostle his leg, which was now livid with a black bruise and swelling.

Draco's hold around his neck stayed for just a little too long, cheering Harry a little, and then he laid back, looking miserable.

"Relax," Harry murmured, barely resisting the urge to stroke his hand; _and when did it become so impossible to keep from touching him?_

"Easy for you to say," the blonde grumbled; but underneath the sarcasm there was real fear, and Harry felt his heart twinge, that strangled whimper from so few nights ago ringing in his ears once again, drying his throat and tightening his stomach.

"It'll be fine," he said, a little hoarsely. He cleared his throat and offered a quirked grin. "I'll be right here, if you need a hand to squeeze."

Draco's eyes flittered briefly to Madame Pomfrey, who was preparing for her task, oblivious to their conversation.

"You're being rather affectionate as of late," he murmured, neutrally.

Harry swallowed, voice lowering. "And?"

Draco shrugged, then winced. Even after days of healing, his whole body still hurt like hell. "I thought you still wanted to be in the closet," he pointed out, eyes probing as he gazed at the other boy. "Wanted to keep your homophobic circle of friends, or something to that effect."

"I do," Harry said, uncomfortably. "I just..."

"Pity me? Want to make me feel better after this...incident?" he demanded, voice sharp. His eyes were suddenly shuttered; guarded.

"No," Harry said firmly, this time giving in to the urge to grab the other's hand. He suddenly stopped thinking about consequences and listened to his instincts, which were telling him that this conversation was way more important to Draco than he was letting on.

He laced their fingers together and squeezed, not flinching away from Draco's gaze once. "I'm doing this because...because I'm pretty sure I want to," he murmured, intensely. "Because right now, you're what matters to me– not the consequences I'll have to deal with later. I– I...care, Draco. Whether you believe me or not...that's the truth."

He stopped, flushed, and worked up the nerve to look into Draco's eyes.

They were utterly naked in that one moment– Harry saw... fear, longing, and some undefinable emotion, shining in their depths. Then it was gone, smoothed over by obsidian stone, unreadable and stoic. Harry felt like he'd been socked in the gut. He was breathless; he wanted to see that again; always; he wanted to break down those walls Draco put up, to be the only one to see his eyes so beautiful and open and–

"Are you ready to begin, Mr. Malfoy?" Madame Pomfrey asked, a bit tersely, knocking them both out of their reveries. "This will take a long time, and I have several other patients in need of attention."

"Sorry to be such a waste of your _valuable_ time," Draco said nastily, his first reaction to her words.

There was a moment of stiff silence.

Draco glanced at Harry's irritated face, and seemed to realize what had come out of his mouth. He winced. "Sorry, ma'am. Force of habit."

Harry looked startled at that, and Draco squeezed his fingers, seeking forgiveness. Harry responded by running a finger over his knuckle and giving him a soft smile.

Oh yes, things were definitely changing between them.

"It's alright," she sighed, shaking her head in exhaustion. "Let's just get started."

All at once Harry saw Draco's entire body stiffen, and his fingers were now clutched in an iron grip.

"Hey," Harry whispered, scooting onto the bed so that he could sit with the other boy. "Don't panic, yeah? It'll be okay."

Draco still looked stricken, and refused to answer him, merely sat there, throat bobbing convulsively, obviously frightened at the prospect of even more pain.

Harry sighed and turned to Madame Pomfrey, face creased in concern. "Can't you use that unconscious spell again? Or some pain potions, at least? So that he doesn't have to feel this?"

Madame Pomfrey put both hands to her temples, looking for a moment as if she simply wanted to _explode. _"I do not have the power required to cast two extraordinarily difficult spells at the same time for such a long duration," she said through gritted teeth. "And with a magical procedure this internal, pain potions could interfere with its success. He will simply have to cope the best he can."

"Why can't you send him to St. Mungo's, where someone else could cast and maintain the sleeping spell?" Harry persisted, protectiveness for the other boy surging through him.

"Because," Madame Pomfrey said, voice clipped. "His knee is barely held together right now; that fall severely damaged all of the work I did before. The entire area is about to collapse, and if we do not operate as soon as possible, it _will_ be irreparable."

The silence was deafening.

Draco began to shake.

"Wha-what?" he asked, breathless. "You didn't– no one ever said– that can't be true!"

"Mr. Malfoy, there's no time for panicking!" she snapped, beyond her wits end. "Just lie still and let me do my job!"

Draco sat back, trembling violently, eyes wide and overwhelmed with fear.

Harry himself felt startled by the news; he was abruptly hit with an image of his lover walking with a cane, like his father, and felt sick to his stomach.

"Is that a yes, then? You're going to allow me to do the magical operation?" Pomfrey asked, interrupting his thoughts.

"I-if that's what must be done to fix it," Draco whispered, terrified.

"Alright," Madame Pomfrey disclaimed, moving to take her spot above his leg, wand poised over his knee. "Get ready then, Mr. Malfoy."

Draco turned his face into Harry's shoulder and squeezed his hand still tighter. Harry kissed his hair, then gestured for Madame Pomfrey to begin.

And Harry tried to prepare himself, he really did– but nothing could have possibly prepared him for the sound of Draco's screams.

COMINGCLEAN

"Excuse me, _miss, _but my boyfriend Blaise Zabini came here hours ago, and he still hasn't returned! Is something wrong?!"

Shrill. Angry.

Pansy.

Blaise groaned, wanting nothing more than to stay with Seamus, who was curled up against his side, drowsing.

But the click of Pansy's stomping heels heading their way spurred him into action, and he quickly began extricating himself from his lover's limbs.

"Nn...don't go," Seamus murmured, fingers tightening on his shirt, eyes fluttering open, bleary and exhausted.

Blaise nearly melted. "I'll be back soon," he reassured, leaning in to kiss away the worried crease on Seamus' forehead.

Pansy's voice rang out again, interrupting their moment. "Blaisey? Where are you?"

At the sound of her voice and the simultaneous realization of why Blaise was leaving, Seamus eyes immediately shuttered; but Blaise had seen the flare of sadness before they'd closed off all emotion.

"Hey," he said gently, putting two fingers underneath the boy's chin, forcing the other boy to meet his gaze. He leaned in close, brushing their lips together chastely. "It's only you, beauty," he murmured, fingertips stroking over his jaw. "I don't want anyone else."(1)

Seamus shivered, and tucked his head into Blaise's neck, inhaling deeply, trying to absorb his presence before he had to leave. "Kay," he whispered, kissing the skin lingeringly.

Groaning, Blaise pulled away, landing one last kiss to the boy's nose before climbing off the bed and stepping towards the curtain. He twisted his expression into a farce of sickly discomfort, and slipped out into the Hospital Wing.

Pansy's eyes found him almost immediately. "Blaise!" she called, frantic. "Oh, look at you, darling! You look right _awful._"

Blaise opened his mouth to respond but Pansy was nearing hysterics now; she fretted and tutted like a ruffled mother hen over his protests, grabbing him by the arms and leading him over to the nearest bed, where she laid him down and pulled the covers over his body.

"You should've told me you were feeling sick, baby," she admonished, pressing clammy hands into his forehead and stroking there wetly. "I thought you just didn't want my company, but this explains it much better."

_No, you were right the first time, _Blaise wanted to bite out, but he snapped his lips shut and forced himself to stay quiet. Merlin, but her touch felt so _strange _on his skin; he longed for Seamus' pale fingers, white and strong, ghosting over his skin with that small degree of timid uncertainty that made Blaise's gut tighten and arousal race through his veins and–

"Blaise!" Pansy snapped, supremely irritated by his lack of attention.

"Sorry, love," Blaise said lazily, still caught in his daydream about Seamus. "I'm just not feeling very well. I'm tired, you know."

It wasn't very subtle, but sometimes one needed to be that way with Pansy.

She tutted, and for a few moments gazed at his drooping eyes, and his exhausted demeanor. Finally, she sighed, and said, "Well, alright. I suppose I should leave you to rest, then."

_Yes! Please! _"I'd appreciate that," he said politely, yawning for show.

"Are you sure you don't want me to stay until you go to sleep, pet?" she asked, lacing their fingers together and squeezing.

Blaise felt his stomach tighten uncomfortably at the similarity between this situation and the earlier one with he and Seamus. He swallowed thickly. "That's okay," he murmured. "You go have a good night without me, yeah?"

She pouted. "Okay." She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his lips. Her mouth _was_ warm against his own, but too soft, and too demanding. At the now familiar and rather unpleasant sensation of kissing her, his mind abruptly brought forth an image of Seamus, staring at him with anguish-filled eyes after he'd put on a show quite like this with Pansy during Care of Magical Creatures. He'd been purposefully trying to get revenge for Seamus' violent outburst upon him the day before, and he'd been so angry that the look hadn't really penetrated his mind– but he supposed he _had_ saved the image, because now it was poignant and probing, lingering behind his eyes with a sharpness that ached.

He pulled away, guilt-stricken. "Sorry, Pans," he said, seeing her hurt face. "I'm exhausted."

"Nonsense, it's alright," she waved him off, before pressing one lass kiss to his forehead and standing up. "I'll just come by tomorrow and see if you're alright. Okay? Goodnight, pet. I love you."

Blaise stiffened, but robotically answered, "S-same here. Goodnight."

He watched her leave, then sighed in relief. Almost immediately after, he felt the guilt, pooling and stirring in his gut. Even though both he and Seamus knew that his relationship with Pansy was a farce, he still felt vaguely sick about being intimate with someone else.

It was strange– feeling badly about doing something to protect himself. Ordinarily, he would've had no problem with lying, cheating, and hurting others, if it meant bringing good fortune to himself. His relationship with Pansy was exactly that– a way to appease his parents, and thus keep himself in their good graces. It shouldn't have bothered him in the slightest that it pained Seamus and that he himself wasn't happy with it. A year ago, it wouldn't have.

But now... things seemed to have shifted, somehow. The addition of Seamus to his life had changed everything; their relationship was confusing, thrilling, wonderful, painful– simultaneously the best and worst thing that had ever happened to him. Seamus could ruin everything he'd been brought up to be– and yet, Blaise cared for him so deeply that he was starting to care less and less about his parents being angry, about the Dark Lord, about Death Eaters and Mudbloods and Dark versus Light...

In his heart, it was only Seamus that mattered.

And he found that he didn't _want_ it any other way.

COMINGCLEAN

Harry was quickly finding out that he _hated _seeing Draco cry.

It wasn't that the boy looked unattractive, or that Harry thought it made him look weak– it was the look on his _face _that absolutely wrenched Harry's heart from his chest.

It was as if every tear was a personal fight, and every single drop that escaped his tightly clenched eyes was a defeat; a weakness. His whole expression was twisted in tortured pain, a mix of physical and emotional agony, making every feature strain with it. His shoulders heaved, despite his obvious attempts to quell the movement. Worst of all, his eyes, whenever he would allow them to open for just a moment, were filled with all-encompassing, poignant _shame_.

It hurt Harry to know that even now, when Draco was being put through a horrifically painful ordeal, he still could not allow himself to break down and show emotion– and all because of his damn bastard of a father.

Harry hated Lucius even more with every glimpse he got of that wet, pained grey gaze.

He sighed, trying to ignore his rising anger, and tightened his hold on his lover, who gave a very quiet sob into his neck and shook minutely against his chest.

"Shh," Harry murmured, for probably the thousandth time; the operation had been going on for two hours now, and he hadn't stopped comforting Draco since it'd started. The other boy had managed to keep his composure for the first few minutes, but then Madame Pomfrey had gotten down to the deeper damage, and he'd succumbed to the screams tearing at his insides. Harry had tried his best to soothe the boy, even as his own heart was shredding to pieces at the sound and sight of his lover in such distress.

Finally, though, things appeared to be slowing down. Draco's screams had at last died down to quiet sobs– although Harry suspected that was more out of exhaustion than a decrease of pain– and his grip on Harry's fingers was no longer white-knuckled and trembling, but merely tight and fraught with occasional tremors.

"You're almost done, Mr. Malfoy," Madame Pomfrey said, sounding a little out of breath. "There's only one fracture left to fix. I will warn you, though, this one is the most complicated, and will probably be the most painful. Somehow, this part of the bone was hit in such a way that it split away from the general mass, and so it will have to be moved back and attached rather than simply mended."

Draco gave a tiny, involuntary whimper at the news and fought the urge to panic. "I-I...okay," he finally whispered. "Just...do what you need to do."

She nodded, then continued, "Because of the nature of the break and the absolute preciseness in which it requires I possess, I must tell you that you have to stay absolutely still, Mr. Malfoy. I would cast a simple paralysis spell, but it would interfere with the nature of your knee bone and the muscles around it."

Draco swallowed thickly. "O-okay."

"I need just a moment to prepare," Pomfrey said. "Please prepare yourself as well."

Draco nodded, shaking. He really didn't have the energy to 'prepare' himself for the inevitable pain, so he merely lay there against Harry's chest like a broken doll, shivering and crying.

Harry smoothed his hand over his lover's clammy forehead, lips following after its wake. "It's alright," he said gently. "Just think– it's almost over, yeah? A little bit longer, and then you can rest. Just hang on; I'll be right here the whole time."

After a few tense minutes of Draco trembling and Harry attempting to soothe him, Madame Pomfrey turned back around, eyes determined. "Ready?" At Draco's shaky nod, she murmured, "Here we go, then. Please remember to stay as still as you can." With that, she furrowed her brows in concentration, and pointed her wand at Draco's knee for hopefully the last time.

A second later, and Draco's whole body stiffened; his mouth opened in a silent scream; his eyes rolled back– there was so much pain; Merlin, it was absolute _agony. _

"Oh, baby, it's alright, come here," Harry tried frantically, heart clanging, pulling his lover's distorted, stiffened upper body even closer and holding it still. "Shh, shh, breathe..."

Draco's head pitched forward onto his chest, red and flushed and slick with tears. "Please make it stop," he whimpered, completely delirious with pain. "No more, Father, I _c-can't_, no more..."

Harry could have cried at the words. "You're alright, Draco," he whispered thickly, kissing his lover's head, rubbing his neck. "You're safe. Just hang on, it'll all be over soon."

The blonde sniffled and attempted to regain a hold of himself, gritting his teeth through the pain, fighting the cries as they rose in his throat. He succeeded for a few valiant moments, but then the barely held composure absolutely _broke_ as one elaborate swish of Pomfrey's wand meshed the bone back to its rightful place.

Draco _sobbed. _

Hard, wet, noisy sobs, that had him gasping for breath and choking on tears.

"Merlin, baby, you're killing me," Harry choked, holding him so tightly it would be a wonder if he didn't bruise. "Hush...shh..."

He pressed his lips into his lover's hair and rode the storm out with him, murmuring nonsensical nothings into the thin blonde hair and rocking him back and forth. Draco held onto him like a dying man, forgoing squeezing his hand to wrap both arms around his neck and _cling. _

It was ten minutes of absolute hell for them both, but, finally, Madame Pomfrey stood up and wiped her brow, and it was over. "I've done the best I could," she breathed.

"Th-th-thank you," Draco choked out, before collapsing against Harry's chest, utterly spent.

Madame Pomfrey hurried around the bed and rummaged in the cabinets before pulling out a flask of pain potion and handing them to Harry. "Give him this as soon as he's able to take it."

"It won't interfere with anything you did?" Harry asked, just wanting to make sure.

"No, the magic's been set and sealed," she said tersely. "No extra magic should tamper with it at this point. Go ahead and give it to him."

Harry nodded, and gently nudged Draco, who was now entirely limp against his chest, listless and exhausted.

"I've got some pain potion," he murmured, brushing blonde hair away from grey eyes.

Draco nodded, looking grateful, and didn't protest when Harry gently tilted his head back to administer it. He nearly choked because of the awkward position, but managed to get it down after a moment or two.

"Thanks," he whispered when it was done, laying his head back down in the crook of Harry's neck as the other boy handed the flask back over to Madame Pomfrey.

"I'm sorry that was so painful for you, Mr. Malfoy," the Mediwizard said, looking apologetic but not guilty. "However, I'm quite certain everything is now back in order with your knee, and that's the most important thing. You should be able to walk normally again within a few days."

Draco was much too spent to respond, and merely gave a short nod, hair tickling Harry's skin.

"Try to get some rest," she continued. "I'm sure you'll feel better in the morning."

Draco nodded, and curled closer to Harry, who kissed his temple and quietly reassured him that he'd be there when he woke. That seemed to relax the other boy entirely, and within moments, Harry felt his eyelids flutter closed, and heard his breath even out in sleep

Once it was obvious Draco had slipped into unconsciousness, Madame Pomfrey approached the bed and began to speak to Harry, voice soft but hard. "Mr. Potter," she began, meeting his gaze squarely. "I've allowed you to stay here overnight– obviously past visiting hours– for several days now, with permission from the Headmaster."

He nodded, eyes a bit confused as he waited for her to continue.

The oft irritable Mediwizard's face grew stern. "However, lately your friends have been coming by, pestering me about your 'well-being', and I have no intention of covering for you any longer." She paused, eyeing him speculatively. "I have no idea why you told them that _you _were the one hurt, and not Mr. Malfoy– but that is your business, I suppose. All _I _ask is that you go to them tonight, and tell them the truth, or at least reassure them that you're fine– so that they'll stop bothering me. I have other priorities then reassuring _your _friends, Mr. Potter."

Harry swallowed, feeling quite sheepish. His actions regarding he and Draco's relationship in _general _now seemed so juvenile; so pointless. He'd never felt closer to another person in his life; he never wanted to let the other boy go; wanted to be there for him, _with _him, always. And he'd said it was for _information_? Had gone to all that effort just to convince his friends of that farce?

He truly felt like an idiot.

"Is that an agreement, Mr. Potter?" Pomfrey snapped irritably, but her eyes were vaguely amused and faintly proud, as if sensing his thoughts.

"Yeah, I'll go," he said, even though he desperately did not want to leave Draco's side. He didn't know what the other boy would think if he woke up without Harry there; he could tell Draco seemed to rely on his presence now, a thought that made him feel warm and flushed.

"Good," the Mediwizard said briskly. "Thank you. You are welcome to return here afterwards, if you'd like."

"Of course," Harry said, a bit too quickly. He averted his eyes from her knowing smile, and slowly, carefully pulled away from Draco's cloying limbs– needy for him, even in sleep. His heart warmed at the realization.

As soon as he got to his feet, he, heedless of Madame Pomfrey's presence, bent down, smoothed Draco's hair back and pressed a tender kiss to his forehead. "I'll be back soon," he murmured against the soft skin, before reluctantly pulling away and heading towards the exit of the Hospital Wing.

He didn't see Madame Pomfrey's gentle, pleased smile as her gaze followed him out, but, somehow, he managed to feel its warmth.

Or maybe that was just the afterglow of touching Draco's skin.

COMINGCLEAN

_**Several hours later...**_

"Blaise!" Seamus whispered sharply.

Blaise awoke with a start, nearly banging his skull on the headboard, and glared over at his lover, who was sitting up with a worried frown on his face.

"Why did you–

"Shh," Seamus hissed, looking over at him, eyes frightened.

Blaise's eyes softened at the expression, as did his voice. "What's wrong, beauty?" he murmured, reaching out to touch his cheek.

Seamus blushed automatically at the pet name, but didn't protest. "I-I heard something," he answered, voice hushed. "A shuffle– then a scream, that was cut short. From over there."

He reached up with a wince and pointed towards the opposite end of the Hospital Wing, where Blaise knew Draco's bed was; he'd seen Harry Potter walking from it on his way back to Seamus earlier that night, looking on cloud nine, and was quite sure he'd just been with the younger Malfoy.

A gut instinct told him that something was very, very wrong with Draco.

The look in Seamus' eyes said he felt the same.

"I'll go check it out, yeah?" Blaise reassured gently, with a calmness he didn't feel. "I'm sure everything's fine."

Seamus' panicked look said clearly, _No, it's not, _and when he abruptly leaned in to embrace the other boy, he was trembling. "Be careful," he whispered. "I have a bad feeling."

Blaise smoothed his hand down Seamus' hair till his fingers rested on the nape of his neck, kneading there softly. "I'll be fine, Seam," he soothed. "Don't worry." He pulled back, kissed the frown off the other boy's lips, and got up.

Seamus watched him leave, trepidation rising steadily in his stomach like the waves of a tide. _Something's not right. I can feel it. _

A moment later, he heard a yelp that was unmistakably Blaise's, and the sickening thud of a body hitting the floor.

Oh, Gods.

"_Blaise!_"

-----------------

**AN:** -ducks- Don't kill me!

Lol, I'll update as soon as I can! Hope you enjoyed; read n revieww, pretty please?

Much love~

CSTSS


	12. Discoveries Pt 1

**AN:** Ughh, I'm sorry. I know it's been forever, but lately I haven't had the time nor the inspiration to write. Anyway, this chapter is utter crap, and I'm sorry for that too. Initially, I was gonna include both revelations in it (Blaise/Seamus and Harry/Draco) but that would've been twice as long and taken twice the time. So, I'm splitting this chapter into two parts, Discoveries Part 1 and Discoveries Part 2. I hope to have the latter out in a week or so.

OH-- and last chapter, I put a footnote next to a quote that Blaise said, and I forgot to put it at the bottom! The quote was "It's only you, beautiful, I don't want anyone else" and it's from The No Seatbelt Song by Brand New. If anyone got that reference, I love you!

Thanks, as always, for your support, and I hope you don't hate this chapter as much as I do!

**Pairings:** Harry/Draco, Blaise/Seamus

**Warnings:** violence, cursing

**Disclaimer:** Characters aren't mine.

--------------------------

_A moment later, he heard a yelp that was unmistakably Blaise's, and the sickening thud of a body hitting the floor._

_Oh, Gods._

"_Blaise!"_

Seamus scrambled to his feet, heart knocking against his throat, pulse much too fast as terror gripped him in its vice-like hold. He was lightheaded, still vaguely ill from the extraordinary blood loss days before, but he forced himself to ignore the nausea and rush out into the darkness that was the Hospital Wing.

"B-Blaise?" he whispered urgently as soon as he was past the curtain. "Where are you? Blaise?"

He began to walk– tiptoe, really– towards where he'd heard the sound of Blaise falling moments before, heart thumping and blood roaring in his ears.

Something was _wrong– _very, very _wrong._

It was too dark; he couldn't see anything. He continued walking, blindly, until suddenly his feet hit something soft. A body.

"Blaise, is that you?" he gasped.

Suddenly, as he was bending over to touch him, he heard the tiniest shuffle behind him; he dodged as quickly as he could, and the fist careening towards the back of his head slammed into his side instead. Crying out in pain and clutching his ribs, he whirled around and backpedaled fast, eyes frantically searching the darkness in front of him for his attacker.

He heard a whispered spell, and didn't realize what it had done until he screamed out for help, and nothing came out.

_Fuck, fuck, FUCK! _Cursing the fact that he didn't have his wand, he backed up into a corner, trying to keep his movements as quiet as he could, figuring that if he could hide from whoever was out there, perhaps he'd be safe.

He tried to control his breathing, which was hitching in panic– and finally managed to succeed through biting down on his lip hard enough to break the skin. Then he forced himself to school every limb into stillness, until he was standing as stoically as a statue.

There were several tense, terrifying moments of silence. And then...

"Boo."

Seamus' mouth opened in a silent scream and he took off running; the now cackling boy who'd scared him sprinted after him, and caught him by the arm, _squeezing _the skin there, making Seamus' eyes prick with pain.

He was wrenched around, bringing him face to face with familiar features that he couldn't seem to place– and then a fist careened into the side of his face, and he was sent sprawling to the floor beside his prone lover, who was groaning in pain.

"Blaise," he tried, desperately– his lover could obviously still talk; he had to get him to call for help!

A foot landed in his stomach, and he coughed, spluttering, but focused on the task at hand; he reached out for his lover, and then a booted foot stomped on his fingers and Seamus cried out in agony– he heard several things snap.

"Blaise, Blaise," he mouthed, overwhelmingly frightened.

Blaise's eyes painfully, blearily blinked open, head throbbing with pain. What was going on? Where was he?

There was laughter. He heard sounds of impact, coming from beside him, as if someone were getting brutally beaten.

Oh, _fuck. _

Hospital Wing. Draco's scream. Being knocked unconscious.

"Madame Pomfrey, _help_!" he crowed, as loudly as he could. "Help! Someone help! Help!"

He scrambled to his feet, swaying dizzily, continuing to yell as loud as he could even as two large figures came barreling towards him. He plunged his hand into the pockets of his robes, searching desperately towards his wand– _fuck, _they'd taken it!

He backpedaled, still yelling, hollering 'help' over and over again. Just before one of the burly figures made contact with him, he saw a flash of light– and then heard Harry Potter's voice ring out amongst the madness.

"_Stupefy!_"

The boy in front of Blaise went down hard, and, at the sight of the sheer distance that he was sent across the room, and the resulting thud as his body hit the wall, his cronies balked.

"Shit, Potter's here! Run!"

They scrambled away, tripping over feet in their haste to leave. There was a shuffle, a few long minutes of shouted curses and tussling, and then, finally, silence.

Blaise breathed hard, allowing himself to relax for just a moment, and then the room lit up– Madame Pomfrey had obviously been wakened– and Blaise caught sight of the person on the ground in front of him.

"Seamus," he breathed. The boy's face was crumpled in pain, but Blaise couldn't hear any sounds coming from him. Harry ran to meet them and murmured the counter curse; immediately the room filled with the sound of Seamus' agonized groans.

"Oh, Gods," Blaise cursed, hurrying to his side and trying to soothe him. His eyes roved over the boy, trying to find any obvious injuries– and was nearly sick at the sight of his hand, twisted and broken at his side. "Shh, Seam, it's alright," he whispered, cradling his head, wincing at the busted lip and rapidly swelling eye. "You're gonna be fine. Madame Pomfrey'll be here in a moment, yeah? Calm down, shh..."

"What _happened _here?" Harry demanded, wiping sweat from his brow, eyeing Seamus with concern and worry.

"Seam woke up because he heard the sound of someone screaming, coming from somewhere over here," Blaise answered tersely, still focused on his lover. "I came to check it out, and–

But Harry was already gone, sprinting towards Draco's room as fast as he could.

Blaise didn't pay any attention, wanting only to soothe Seamus, who was looking vaguely sick with pain.

"Oh, my goodness," Madame Pomfrey tutted, running to them in her rumpled nightclothes, looking horrified. "_What _is going on?"

"Some students snuck into the Hospital Wing," Blaise again explained. "We came to check it out, and were attacked."

"Well, hurry, let's get him back to his bed," she said, regaining her professional composure as she looked over Seamus' form with a critical eye.

Blaise nodded and moved to pick him up; but, quite suddenly, his head gave a poignant throb, and his vision went black.

He hit the floor with a thud.

COMINGCLEAN

_Oh, God, Draco, _the Gryffindor thought, terrified. _Damnit, I should never have left! Ron and Hermione could've waited!_

He finally made it to the now familiar curtain, and frowned as he realized there was no sounds coming from within– usually, there was a steady beeping, or the sound of Draco tossing and turning in sleep.

Feeling foreboding, he lifted his wand and said the counter curse for a silencing spell.

Anger surged through him at the now familiar sound of Draco screaming in pain. He threw open the curtain, and saw Flint, standing above Draco's fallen form, administering some sort of spell on the prone Malfoy, whose body movements and expression pointed to one thing–

–The Cruciatus.

"_Expelliarmus!_" Harry shouted, so loud and with so much power that Flint himself was sent careening past the curtain and into the nearest wall, while his wand flew neatly into Harry's outstretched hand.

"I'll _kill _you, Flint!" he bellowed, throwing it to the side and moving towards the fallen, groaning Slytherin.

"Oh no you won't!" Madame Pomfrey's voice came ringing out as she stomped towards them. "What in Merlin's nameis going on _now_?"

Draco gave a whimper of pain and her eyes locked on him.

"Oh, goodness," she murmured, hurrying over to him. "Harry, you go get the Headmaster, immediately! I will tend to Draco!"

"What about Flint?!" Harry growled, eyes sparking in anger.

"Leave him, Harry! The Headmaster must be informed of this incident, at once!"

Harry nodded and moved to do so, but a howling, "NO!" stopped him dead in his tracks.

Thrashing, nearly delirious in pain, Draco reached for him, blindly; Madame Pomfrey tried to press him down, wanting to prevent further injury, but he was much too terrified and violent to heed her gentle movements.

"Draco, Draco," Harry called, running to his side. The familiar grey eyes were crazed; agonized– but they locked onto his own with just a tiny vestige of sanity lurking in their depths. Harry latched on to that, encouraging it with his own eyes, leaning over the trembling body to stroke sweaty blonde hair away from the flushed face. "I'll be right back, okay? I'm not abandoning you. Never, Draco. _Never._"

Harry hated seeing the tears beginning to dribble down the pale skin, and kissed them away, one by one, even though he knew time was ticking and he could feel Madame Pomfrey's glare on the top of his head.

Finally, he pulled back, leaving one less lingering kiss on the boy's forehead before turning and sprinting towards the door of the Hospital Wing.

He slammed them open and yelped as he nearly ran headlong into Ron and Hermione.

"Harry!" Hermione cried, grasping his arms, trying to still him. When she succeeded her eyes roved over his face, and immediately flared with concern. "What is it? Is it Seamus? Has his conditioned worsened?"

Harry winced, remembering their earlier conversation; he just hadn't managed to work up the nerve to tell them the truth, and instead had claimed he'd been in the Hospital Wing checking on Seamus, not Draco.

"I can't talk right now, sorry," he said quickly, trying to skirt out of Hermione's grasp and move past them.

"What's going _on, _mate?" Ron nearly roared, irritation making his temper snap.

"Nothing!" Harry yelled back, just as loud. "And I'm tired of both of you fucking prying in my business, so just _leave. Me. Alone!_"

Hermione looked stricken. She let him go as if his skin had started to burn her, and took a few steps back. Her eyes grew glassy with tears.

"Fuck you, Harry!" Ron snapped, seeing them and rushing to his girlfriend's side to comfort her.

Harry didn't have time to feel guilty, and took off once again, mind truly only on Draco. He made it to Dumbledore's office in record time, and pounded on the door, screaming for the older wizard to let him in.

"Come in, Harry, come in!" came Dumbledore's startled voice.

Harry obeyed and sprinted inside, breathing hard and sweating. "Professor, Professor!"

"Yes, Harry, what is it?" Dumbledore asked, standing to meet him.

"A few students broke into the Hospital Wing and attacked three of the patients!" Harry spit out as fast as he could. "And they're hurt– badly. Seamus Finnigan and Blaise Zabini were beaten up, and Draco Malfoy was subject to several minutes under the Cruciatus curse!"

"What?" Dumbledore hissed, truly looking shocked. His eyes, ordinarily sparkling with good-natured amusement, darkened in anger. "Have the perpetrators been caught?"

"I don't know– most of them got away," Harry said quickly, shaking his head. His eyes shone with worry. "But Draco's hurt very badly– the worst out of the three."

"I can only imagine," Dumbledore replied, voice grave. He turned to his fireplace. "Well, I'll Floo St. Mungo's, and ask them to send over a few Healers to help with Draco and the other two students. I don't think sending Mr. Malfoy directly to them is such a good idea when his condition is so perilous."

Harry gulped. "Thank you, Professor."

Dumbledore nodded in response and murmured, "Go back to him, Harry."

Harry's throat grew dry, and he could only manage a, "Okay, sir," before turning around and rushing back out into the hall.

By the time he made it all the way back to the Hospital Wing, he was panting with exertion. He made a beeline for Draco's bed, only slightly encouraged by the fact that he didn't hear any screaming.

That relief was short-lived as he yanked open the curtain and saw his lover unconscious, looking like he was barely breathing, each rare puff of air rattling sickeningly in his chest. Madame Pomfrey was bustling around him, muttering spells and waving her wand in frantic movements that had Harry's heart clenching in worry.

"M-Madame Pomfrey," he tried, simultaneously not wanting to bother her and wanting to know what Draco's condition was. "How–how is he?"

Madame Pomfrey didn't even look at him, but she did respond, voice rapid and void of emotion. "The pain was too much for his system. He went unconscious a few minutes ago. I'm doing my best to keep him stable, but he's got a dangerous amount of internal damage."

Harry swallowed. "Professor Dumbledore's Flooing St. Mungo's right now. The Healers should be here any minute."

Madame Pomfrey nodded shortly. "Good. I could use the help."

Harry bit his lip uncertainly, still hovering at the foot of Draco's bed. "Could I... sit with him? Or would I be in the way?"

Madame Pomfrey did stop then, and turned to look at him, eyes scrutinizing. Finally, she murmured, "It might be a good idea. Mr. Malfoy seems to be...calmer...when you're with him. It would indeed be much easier to perform the necessary spells with him relaxed and still."

Harry tried not to show the flood of relief that ran through him at her acquiescence, and merely said a quick "thank you" before sidling in next to Draco's form underneath the thin bed sheets. His fingers literally _shook _with the urge to gather Draco to his chest, but he didn't want to hurt the other boy, and he was much too embarrassed to ask Madame Pomfrey whether or not the movement would do so.

"Just be careful about it," Madame Pomfrey said, so quietly Harry wondered if he'd imagined it. When she looked up at him with her eyes twinkling in gentle amusement, though, Harry knew he hadn't been mistaken.

Face heating, he wrapped gentle arms under Draco's and pulled his upper body until it was draped across his chest. Then he pressed the blonde head into his shoulder and began to pet the thin strands, the movement soothing both himself and Draco, whose expression had begun showing signs of panic and now schooled back into peaceful sleep.

Madame Pomfrey's face melted into a soft smile at the sight, but she had only a moment to revel in it, because suddenly there were Healers rushing in around her, firing questions and waving wands in preliminary check-ups over Draco's body.

"How long has he been unconscious?"

"How extensive are the injuries?"

"Was he under the Cruciatus for longer than two minutes?"

"Was he put under any other spell?"

Madame Pomfrey tried her best to answer all of them with utmost patience and preciseness, but it was all a bit too chaotic for her frail temper, and she found herself after a few moments screaming, "Silence!"

They stopped speaking, and looked at her, frowning.

"This is _my _Hospital Wing," she said shortly. "And it will be run the way _I _desire. I know we have a very badly injured patient here, but chaos will only make his condition worse. Organization is key, and both myself and Draco would appreciate you applying it."

They all nodded, and turned back to Draco, going back to their spells and assessments much more quietly than before. Madame Pomfrey grunted in approval and joined them, wincing when she caught sight of Draco's fluttering eyes; their loudness must have awoken him.

Draco gave a small groan, feeling the first vestiges of pain penetrate his consciousness. "Mn...fuck..."

Harry pressed his lips to the fair hair and murmured, "You're alright."

Harry's voice grounded Draco as the pain blossomed into full-fledged agony; what the _fuck _had happened? "Harry, I don't...r-remember," he gasped, fingers tightening on his lover's robes. "What...happened?"

Harry's eyes darkened in anger. "You were attacked. Flint broke in to the hospital and used the Cruciatus on you."

A few brief images and feelings came to Draco's mind, swift and brutal: hot fear, his own thundering pulse, his body hitting the floor with a sickening thud, the startling onslaught of pain, twisting limbs and silent, agonized screams–

"Shh," Harry soothed, feeling Draco begin to shake.

"Did they–is he, caught?" Draco wheezed, wincing as he felt something shift inside of him from one of the many spells ghosting over his form.

"I don't know," Harry responded, regretfully. "I ran out to tell Professor Dumbledore as soon as Madame Pomfrey got to you."

Draco stiffened. "O-oh."

"He won't come back," Harry promised.

"I–

"Sorry to interrupt, but we're going to need to keep you unconscious for the next few hours," an older looking female nurse said from the left of Draco. "There's a lot that needs to be done to salvage the bones, tissues, and organs that were damaged by the curse, and you being awake poses too many risks to their successful healing."

Draco nodded, relieved that he wouldn't have to sit through even more pain. His whole body seemed to relax into Harry's embrace, and the Gryffindor smiled softly, sadly, simultaneously glad that the other boy was relieved and unhappy that he had to go through this at all.

"I'll be here when you wake up," Harry murmured into his hair; it had become his customary promise, ever since Madame Pomfrey had told him that Draco often woke up screaming for him and utterly panicked when he wasn't present.

"Good," Draco replied, with a trace of his ordinary haughtiness, somewhat diminished by the overwhelmingly pained tremor to his voice.

Harry smiled a little, then looked to the nurse and nodded. The woman returned it and swiftly cast the spell, her face twisted in utmost concentration, obviously the mark of how much energy it required. After a moment, Draco's eyes fluttered closed, and his breath evened out against Harry's neck.

Harry sighed, relieved, and closed his own eyes, allowing himself to relax for the first time in the past few frantic minutes. He laid his cheek on the top of his lover's head, and let himself drift, the sounds of bustling Healers and Draco's even breath lulling him into a blissfully drowsy state.

COMINGCLEAN

"Where do you think Seamus is?" Hermione asked, voice worried.

"I don't know," Ron said gruffly, still angry about their previous meeting with his best friend. "Could be in the back beds, depending upon how bad his condition is."

Hermione bit her lip. "I hope it's not that bad."

"I'm sure he's– oh, Merlin, there he is!" Ron suddenly yelled, taking off in a sprint across the wing towards the stumbling form of their friend; Hermione, seeing Seamus as well, ran after her boyfriend, and the two entirely missed the swarm of Healers around Draco's bed in their hurry to get to him.

"Mate, what're you doing?" Ron panted as soon as he got to Seamus, who was bent over his stomach, gasping in pain and stumbling drunkenly away from his bed.

"W-where's Blaise?" Seamus whispered, eyes delirious with pain and panic. "Blaise? Where is he? Is he alright?"

Ron blinked, bewildered. "Zabini?" he asked confusedly. "Why do you want to know where _he _is?"

Seamus, very abruptly, looked like he was going to be sick. His knees buckled underneath him, and Ron just barely caught him before he hit the floor.

"Where is he, where is he?" the Irish boy mouthed frantically against Ron's shoulder, sagging there pathetically. "Tell me he's alright, please..."

Ron looked at his girlfriend over Seamus' shoulder and saw that she looked equally confused. "Seamus, you're not thinking straight," he finally said, patting the boy's back awkwardly. When Seamus didn't respond, obviously unconscious, the redhead shrugged and easily hefted Seamus' body into the air, carrying him back over to his bed and laying him down as carefully as he could. After that, he took a moment to look him over, and winced at the abundance of bruises and blood, and, worst of all, his twisted, broken hand.

"He looks awful," Hermione whispered at his side, sounding frightened.

Ron wrapped a reassuring arm around her shoulders and squeezed lightly.

"I mean, where's Madame Pomfrey? Shouldn't she be tending to him?" she asked, somehow managing to make the question sound not accusatory, but merely concerned.

Ron shrugged, biting his lip in a grimace as Seamus groaned in pain and shifted in his sleep. "I dunno. Should we try and find her?"

Hermione thought for a moment, then took a look at Seamus' pained expression and decided. "Yes. You go try and find her, and I'll stay here with him."

Ron looked hesitant, but said, "Alright, love. I'll be back soon."

He leaned in to give her a kiss on the forehead, then walked off towards the front of the Wing. Hermione watched him go, eyes fond, then turned back to Seamus, whose eyes were beginning to flutter open once again.

"Seamus?" Hermione asked, softly. "How're you feeling?"

The Irish boy took a shuddering breath. His eyes looked unclear and unfocused. "Blaise?"

Hermione frowned. "No, Seamus, it's–"

"M'here, beauty," came a raspy voice to her left. Hermione gasped as Blaise stumbled past the curtain and half-fell onto the edge of Seamus' bed. He was clutching his head, and looking just as miserable as the Irish boy, but seemed desperate to get to him despite it.

"Zabini, what are you _doing_?" Hermione asked, trying to steady him.

But his eyes were only for Seamus, and the same vice versa.

Seamus' eyes seemed to clear as they realized who they were looking at, and he whispered, "Blaise. You're alright."

"Yeah, it's just a bump," Blaise murmured, smirking faintly. He leaned forward and took Seamus into his arms, surprising Hermione entirely. "I'm sorry if I scared you."

Seamus tucked his head into the soft spot beneath Blaise's jaw and reveled in the warmth the other boy provided. "S'alright..."

Blaise's lips found his temple and kissed there gently. "Are you in pain?"

Seamus shuddered and nodded. "Yes," he whispered.

Blaise squeezed him lightly and rocked him back and forth. "Pomfrey should be here soon. I bet she's with Draco and Potter right now."

Hermione started at that. Loudly, she demanded, "What's wrong with Harry? Is he here?"

It was then that the pair finally seemed to notice her presence. Seamus started violently and pushed Blaise away–

–with his broken hand.

Screaming hoarsely, Seamus curled up on his side and bent double in agony.

"Seamus!" Blaise and Hermione yelped simultaneously.

Blaise leaned over his lover and cautiously smoothed his hair back, heart clenching in concern for the other boy. "Seamus, talk to me. Are you alright?"

Seamus clenched his eyes shut and refused to say anything. She'd seen! Hermione had seen them–together.

She _knew._

She'd tell Ron, he'd tell the entire Gryffindor house, the whole _school _would know–

"Seamus, breathe!" Hermione shouted, terrified.

"He's panicking," Blaise cursed. He turned to Hermione, eyes a touch wild, and demanded, "Tell him you don't care about us. Tell him you're fine with it!"

"What?" Hermione asked, bewildered. "I don't understand, I–

"Just do it!" Blaise roared.

"Seamus, I couldn't care less about you and Za–and Blaise!" Hermione exclaimed, sincerely. "I just want you to be alright!"

"Tell him you won't tell anyone," Blaise insisted, worry coloring his voice.

"I won't tell a soul, I promise you, Seamus," Hermione said desperately, reaching out to touch his shoulder. "Please just calm down. You're my friend, and it doesn't matter to me who you want to be with– honestly!"

She stopped, breathing hard, and there were a few long, tense moments of silence.

Finally, Seamus' breaths began coming more evenly, and his back stopped shuddering so violently. Blaise touched the back of his neck and gently kneaded the tense skin there. "There you go, beauty. Everything's alright."

His voice was deep and rich, and his touch was perfectly gentle, soothing Seamus' exhausted mind and body. He relaxed into the hands at his neck, and felt his eyes begin drift closed. He was too tired to deal with the situation anymore; all he wanted to do was sleep.

Blaise turned his head towards Hermione, and his eyes were soft. "Thank you," he whispered.

Hermione was startled, but murmured in response, "You're welcome."

Blaise turned back to Seamus, bending over to kiss his hair and croon to him softly.

Hermione watched with a quiet smile on her lips, and for the first time in a long while, felt completely at peace.

Love was a beautiful thing, indeed.

----------------------

**AN:** Next chapter will be the big Harry/Draco reveal. Hopefully it will be better than this one!

Thanks for reading, and I'd love to hear any feedback.

Much love,

CSTSS


	13. Discoveries Pt 2

**AN:** Once again, sorry for the slow update! I've been traveling a lot and have been super busy, so finding time to write hasn't been easy. I hope that this chapter makes up for that; it's quite fluffy at times, so all of you angst-haters, there ya go! Plus, I'm actually not horribly disappointed with this one.. I think it's much better than last chapter. I hope you all feel the same.

Oh, and as of right now, the poll on my page is fairly equal with people wanting a Sasu/Naru multi-chap fic while I'm writing this one. Until I have a clear lead, I won't make any rash decisions. Plus, I think this fic is nearing it's close-- probably two or three more chapters, and it'll be over. For all of you Sasu/Naru fans, the wait won't be much longer!

Thanks so much for all of your support. I'd like to give special thanks to an anonymous reviewer who let me know that Ron comes from a more tolerant town and thus his behavior isn't exactly in character; in this chapter I've addressed that somewhat, and I hope he/she is happy with the addition!

Enjoy, folks!

**Warnings:** kissing, cursing, a little violence

**Pairings:** Harry/Draco, Blaise/Seamus

**Disclaimer:** Not mine.

-----------------------

"Madame Pomfrey!" Ron called, walking quickly through the Hospital Wing. "Madame Pomfrey, we need your help!"

He rounded the corner as fast as he could and was suddenly met with a startling scene– at least a dozen Healers, bustling around one bed near the far end of the Wing, movements concise but obviously frantic. _Uh oh, _he thought, feeling trepidation. _Someone must be hurt _badly.

He picked up his pace, nearly running, and finally caught sight of Madame Pomfrey in the midst of the Healers, bending over whoever the patient was. "Madame Pomfrey!" he yelled. "We need your help! Madame Pom–

She stood up to face him, finally revealing who it was hidden in the bed behind her.

He stopped short, feeling his stomach drop to his feet. For a moment, the world spun dizzily around him.

Harry Potter, his best mate, the person he knew and trusted more than anyone else in the world...

...was wrapped around one Draco Malfoy, holding him as one would hold a lover; their hands were intertwined, Harry's lips were in the blonde hair murmuring nothings...

"Oh, God, I'm gonna be sick," he whispered, before turning on is feet and taking off in a sprint.

"Ron!" he heard Harry call behind him, but he didn't stop, just ran as fast as he could. "Ron, wait! Stop!"

He slid around the corner and made a beeline for Seamus' bed. Barely even skirting to a stop, he threw open the curtains–

And saw Blaise Zabini _kissing _Seamus.

"Y-you–w-what the _fuck,_" Ron spluttered, raising his hands to his eyes and backpedaling rapidly. His back hit something soft and he turned around to see Harry glaring at him, with eyes that were subtly frightened.

"You're both," Ron began, looking back and forth between the two, voice a mere growl. "Fucking. _Liars._"

"Ron, please, let me–

"No!" he roared, turning and shoving Harry forcefully away. "_You_ especially– you make me sick, you fucking _bastard!_ You _lied, _to all of us!"

Harry stumbled from the push but regained his balance and shot back, "Well what would you have done, Ron!? Huh?"

"_I _would've told the truth to my best _mate_!" Ron shouted, red in the face from anger.

"Would you both mind taking this outside!?" Blaise yelled from behind the redhead, sounding pretty ticked himself. Seamus' face was hidden in his neck; he could hear the Irish boy chanting, 'oh, god no, oh no, oh no,' over and over; could feel the way his body trembled, and wanted to protect his lover from any further upset.

Ron whirled around, eyes livid. "You shut the fuck up, Slytherin _scum._"

"Ron!" Hermione exclaimed, scandalized.

Ron turned to her, and she shrank away from the anger in his face. "Did you know about this?" he asked, gesturing disgustedly to Seamus and Blaise, voice dangerously low.

Hermione's lips trembled. "I just found out myself, Ron," she murmured. "I'm just as surprised as you are."

Ron's attention turned towards the pair on the hospital bed, and his lips twisted in a snarl. "You're a fucking hypocrite, Seamus Finnigan!"

Blaise raised up, like a provoked snake, and said sharply, "Watch it, Weasel."

"This doesn't involve you!" Ron snapped furiously. "Seamus! What do you have to say for yourself? TALK, you fucking coward!"

"Back off!" Blaise growled, letting Seamus go and getting to his feet.

"Boys, stop," Hermione pleaded. "This isn't going to help anything."

"Shut up, Hermione, this isn't your fight," Ron snapped, puffing his chest up to Blaise.

"Don't talk to her like that!" Harry exclaimed, reaching forward and grabbing the back of Ron's robes.

Ron whirled around, temper flaring, and swung a fist into Harry's jaw, sending the other boy reeling.

"What the fuck, Ron," Harry cursed, clutching the bruising spot.

"That's what you get, you fucking prick," Ron snarled, raising his fist again.

"Ron, please!" Hermione yelled, desperately. "Please stop this! You're_ scaring_ me!"

Harry figured it was the genuine _fear _in her voice that finally broke through Ron's dangerous temper. The redhead's eyes flickered, still glaring lividly at Harry but rapidly losing some of their intensity, and after a few long moments, his fist finally lowered.

He took a shaky step back from his best mate, and turned to face his girlfriend.

"I'm leaving," he said through gritted teeth. "You're welcome to come with me."

Hermione took a deep breath, then smacked him, right across the face. "Don't you _ever _do something like that again," she snapped.

"Mione!" Ron yelped, bringing a hand up to clutch the reddened spot.

"Now, _I'm _leaving," Hermione continued, getting to her feet and pointing a menacing finger at his chest. "And don't you _dare _come with unless you have an extraordinary apology to offer me."

With that, she stormed off, leaving a stunned Ron in her wake.

Harry couldn't help it. He gave a small snicker.

Ron reared up like a provoked animal and snarled, "You shut the fuck up! This whole thing is _your fault!_"

Harry bit his lip and sobered. "I know, Ron," he finally said, voice quiet. "I know it is."

There was a moment of silence.

"Why'd you lie, mate?" Ron finally asked, sounding genuinely pained. "Why didn't you tell me what was really going on?"

Harry sighed, rubbed a hand over his bruised face. "It was...complicated. It still is."

Ron shook his head dispiritedly. "You know what, Harry, if that's all you can give me, then maybe we need to rethink this friendship."

"What? Ron, I–

"Save it," the redhead snapped. "I'm going after Hermione. See you later, Harry."

He moved to brush past the boy, but was stopped by Seamus' hoarse cry, "Wait!"

Ron stopped, shoulders tensing, but did not turn around to face the other boy. "What?" he said through gritted teeth.

"Are you... going to tell everyone?" Seamus asked, voice resigned, as if he already knew the answer. "About–about Blaise...and-and me?"

Ron swallowed thickly. "They're your friends; they deserve to know."

"And they will," Seamus hurried to appease, even as the words made his stomach churn with nausea. "When I'm ready to tell them."

Ron sighed. "Fine. Whatever, Seamus. Do what you want."

He didn't see Seamus collapse in relief against Blaise, but he did hear the other boy murmur, "See? It's gonna be alright. He didn't take it as badly as you'd thought."

Shaking his head, Ron took off across the Wing, brushing past Harry and trying to ignore the hurt look in his eyes.

Honestly, it wasn't so much the gay thing that bothered him. He'd grown up in a pretty open-minded town, and his family, while deep-rooted in 'wholesome family' values, didn't have much a problem with it either. He put on a big show that he was disgusted by it when he was around his friends– and while to some degree he _was_– it was quite a bit exaggerated.

No, the real problem was the blatant _dishonesty. _Seamus paraded around his hatred for gay people, practically painting himself with the label of 'homophobe'– and there he was, kissing another boy. And _Harry..._ Merlin, he admired and trusted Harry more than anyone else in his life, and the other boy had thrown that all out the window. All the respect Ron had once had for him– for _both _of them– was gone.

_But honestly, do you really think _you _would you have told? _A small voice spoke up in his head.

_I wouldn't have had that secret, because I'm not a – I'm not gay, _Ron snapped back.

_Still...it was a secret that they knew you'd object to. They were probably scared shitless of the way you'd react. You would be too, if you were in that situation._

"That doesn't make it okay," he grumbled. Sighing explosively and resolving to deal with it later, he stomped towards the Gryffindor dorms in hopes of finding and making amends with his irate girlfriend.

COMINGCLEAN

"How's Draco?" Blaise asked, fingers sifting idly through Seamus' thick hair.

"Flint put him under the Cruciatus," Harry said darkly, still rubbing ruefully at his jaw. "How do you _think _he's doing?"

"W-what?" Blaise asked, looking genuinely startled. _An Unforgivable Curse? The little creep would go _that _far?_ "He got _Crucio'd_?"

"Yeah," Harry practically growled. "Dumbledore sent in Healers from St. Mungo's. They're with him right now."

"How bad is it?"

Harry shrugged. Blaise saw that his arms were trembling minutely. "They didn't tell me much. Just came bustling in and started doing their spells."

Blaise shook his head, stunned by the entire night. After a minute, he said, "Well, there _are_ other patients in here too. Madame Pomfrey started on Seamus, but she took off a few minutes ago and never returned."

Harry didn't know why he felt guilty. "I can go get her," he offered.

"That would be helpful," Blaise replied, offering him a strained but grateful smile before turning back towards his lover in dismissal.

Harry took the hint and walked past the curtain into the halls of the Wing. His head was still reeling from both the conversation with Ron and the hard right hook he'd taken to the jaw, and at this point he didn't know how he was going to go about fixing his relationship with his best mate. He forced himself to not think about it until both Draco and Seamus were stable and he had time to plan his actions, and began to pick up his pace as he headed towards the former's bed.

"Madame Pomfrey!" he called, once he caught sight of it, still surrounded by Healers.

"What is it now?" the exhausted woman snapped, in the midst of grabbing a few vials of potion from a cabinet.

"Erm...do you think someone go see to Seamus?" Harry asked, a bit feebly. Madame Pomfrey could be quite intimidating when she wanted to be. "He's not doing so well."

Madame Pomfrey nearly dropped her potions in her surprise. "Oh, goodness," she murmured, looking guilty. "I completely forgot about him. Mr. Malfoy was hurt so badly, and I-I guess I–

"It's okay, Madame Pomfrey," Harry cut in quickly, but gently.

She sighed, then straightened herself up. "Very well, I'll send a Healer over to him immediately," she replied, voice once again stoic and clipped. "You may join Mr. Malfoy again, if you wish. He is resisting the forced unconsciousness, and most likely would calm should he have your presence beside him."

Harry nodded, concern flaring to life in his stomach. "Yes, ma'am."

He broke through the crowd of Healers and winced as he caught sight of Draco's twitching limbs and pinched, flushed face.

"Let me through," he said firmly, pressing his hand to one of the nurse's arms. She turned to give him a glare, but then saw who it was and moved away from him, giving Harry a spot right next to Draco's form.

"Draco," he murmured, reaching out to smooth the other boy's sweaty hair away from his forehead. The boy's eyes were clenched shut, and his features were strained; his mouth was open and panting breathily. Harry heard the soft, agonized word, "Theo", being repeated over and over again.

"Shh," he whispered soothingly, letting his fingers drift down to the creased forehead, stroking the worried wrinkles away. Draco shuddered, then relaxed, turning towards his touch and seeming to calm underneath Harry's gentle ministrations.

"Thank you," a relieved Healer sighed. Harry glanced up to see it was the same who was holding– or attempting to hold– Draco unconscious.

"Mhm," he grunted, eyes drifting back down to Draco, feeling relief flood through him at the sight of his now peaceful face.

After a moment, he exhaled and sat on the edge of the bed so he could be closer to the other boy. He couldn't keep the warm smile from spreading on his face when Draco curled close, gravitating towards him even in sleep. At the movement, Harry's heart did an odd little leap; his breath caught in his throat and he was suddenly charged with the urge to pull Draco to his chest and never ever let him go.

_Love,_ his mind said abruptly.

He immediately pulled his hand back as if burned, mind reeling. _Love? No. No, no. That never was part of the equation._

He put shaky hands over his face and rubbed hard.

Draco's mouth twisted in a frown at the loss of contact, and he gave that pained whimper that always managed to claw its way into Harry's heart. Harry immediately hurried to soothe him, the movement automatic and natural.

_Merlin, maybe...maybe I do._

_Stop. Don't say that._

Sighing shakily, Harry thought firmly, _Worry about _him _right now, not about whether or not you... l-love him._

So he stroked Draco's hair, and tried to ignore the way his heart was thundering in his chest.

The idea that he, Harry Potter, had fallen in love with Draco Malfoy, terrified him more than Voldemort himself.

COMINGCLEAN

"He'll tell them," Seamus said bleakly, voice monotone. He was curled up against Blaise's chest, so anxious that even the other boy's heartbeat against his ear was not enough to soothe him.

"He said he wouldn't," Blaise countered, a bit irritated. The other boy hadn't stopped worrying and fretting since Harry had left, and with his own fears festering and his head pounding away, the Slytherin boy was starting to get tired of it.

"Like I believe that," Seamus grumbled cynically. He shifted a little, wincing as his hand gave a throb at the movement. "He's probably having a laugh about me right now, I bet. Probably up in the common room telling them all about us; making jokes. And you know what I think? I think earlier he just wanted to lull me into a false sense of security, so that when I finally get out of here he can just–

"Damnit, would you just shut _up, _Seamus!" Blaise finally roared, temper snapping. "You're not the only one who's worried about this getting out! But you don't see me talking about it every second, now do you?!"

Seamus blinked, stunned. "I..."

"Exactly! I'm not! So for Merlin's sake, be _quiet!_"

The silence was deafening.

"Is everything alright in here, boys?" Madame Pomfrey asked as she abruptly appeared from behind the curtain.

Seamus pushed himself violently away from Blaise, howling with the pain it caused his hand. Blaise was thrown sideways at the force of it, and tumbled off the bed in a heap of limbs.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake," Madame Pomfrey tutted, sounding extraordinarily stressed. "Blaise, get to a different bed. I'll tend to you in a moment."

"B-but, I–

"Go!" she snapped.

Blaise absolutely did _not _want to leave Seamus– especially when he'd just upset the boy– but obediently got to his feet and stumbled dizzily past the curtain to his own bed.

Seamus grimaced, eyes unconsciously following his lover's form until the curtain floated back into place and hid him from his view.

"Damn," he whispered ruefully. His body and heart thrummed with pain.

"I sincerely apologize, Mr. Finnigan," Madame Pomfrey said, knocking him out of his reverie. "I completely lost track of everything else when that commotion happened over with another patient."

Seamus nodded blearily, vaguely remembering Madame Pomfrey taking off towards where Harry had gone moments before. "S'fine," he murmured.

"Anyhow," she said briskly. "I'm going to do a quick assessment, and then I'll get started healing, alright?"

Seamus nodded, mind still on Blaise.

Madame Pomfrey waved her wand over his body, frowning sharply at what she found. After a moment, she tutted and grumbled, "My, my. Such violence in my own Hospital Wing."

"Is it bad?" Seamus asked, wincing as he remembered the sound of his bones cracking.

"Nothing I can't handle," she said firmly. "Fortunately, the breaks in your hand aren't messy. Some simple Skele-grow should do the trick. As for your other injuries, you're just going to have a few nasty bruises that a quick spell and potion will fix."

Seamus bit his lip. "And Blaise? Will he be okay?"

Her eyebrows furrowed. "I haven't checked him over yet, but if he was well enough to be over here chatting with you, than I'm sure he'll be just fine."

Seamus blushed a little, then allowed himself to relax into the bed. Madame Pomfrey administered a few potions for the Skele-grow, then went forward with her spellwork for the bruising. Sometime during this, Seamus' eyes drifted closed, and he fell asleep with Blaise's face on the back of his eyelids.

COMINGCLEAN

Draco slowly, blearily opened his eyes, feeling as if lead bricks were weighing down the lids. He groaned as he felt the various aches make themselves known in his limbs, but was grateful for the foggy, blunt-tipped nature of the pain– likely the result of many pain potions.

When his vision finally cleared, he flinched sharply at the sight of at least a dozen healers surrounding him, wiping their brows and looking generally exhausted.

"How do you feel, Mr. Malfoy?" one of them asked, kindly.

Draco fought the urge to snap, _How do you _think _I fucking feel?, _and merely muttered, "M'fine."

"Well you look a mess, Malfoy," came a snarky voice to his left.

He turned to glare at the person; then it hit him that it was _Harry_, and the breath abruptly left him in a rush.

When he managed to finally find his voice, he said faintly, "Yeah, you wish, Potter."

Harry's lips quirked. Draco thought it was sexy as hell. The brunette leaned a little closer, eyelids lowering. "That's my line," he murmured.

_Fucking hell, Harry. _

Draco felt like his pulse had doubled, and he was taken over with the sudden poignant urge to grab the other boy's face and kiss him silly.

Harry looked like he was feeling the same sentiment, and leaned in closer, seeming as if he was going to do so.

And then someone cleared their throat beside him, knocking them both out of their reveries.

"Excuse me, Mr. Malfoy, but I still need to tell you a few things," said the same nurse who had asked him how he'd been feeling earlier. Her eyebrows were quirked in perplexed amusement.

Draco, unfathomably, felt his cheeks redden. "Sorry, ma'am. Go on."

"You're going to be feeling sore for the next day or so, due to the amount of magic that's been put through your system," she began again, very professionally. "However, we've given you some pain potions that shouldn't interfere with any of the spells we did, and you'll be feeling good as new in a few hours."

"So I can leave, then?" Draco asked, sounding impatient.

Her face sterned. "Not yet, Mr. Malfoy. It would–"

"Stop calling me that!" the younger Malfoy suddenly yelled, abruptly enraged at being addressed by his father's name.

She looked vaguely shocked. "Very well,...?"

"Draco," the blonde filled in, breathing a little shakily. Harry found his hand under the blanket and intertwined their fingers, and Draco was grateful for his support.

"Draco," she amended, a bit shakily herself. "I'm sorry, but we believe it would be prudent for you to stay just one more night here. Your body has been through quite a few shocks these past few days, and even though it's healed now, full recovery requires rest and monitoring to make sure everything stays as it should be."

"And what if someone else tries to break in here and attack me?" Draco asked, voice waspish.

"That won't happen, my dear boy," came Dumbledore's voice from somewhere to his left.

Both Draco and Harry started, turning to watch the elder Wizard walk through the sea of nurses and wind up at their bedside.

"Hullo, Professor," Harry offered, when Draco didn't seem wont to say anything.

"Good evening, Harry," Dumbledore said politely. He looked to Draco, saw the blatant distrust shining in his eyes. "Mr. Malfoy–

"It's Draco," the blonde practically growled, shaking.

Harry slipped his other hand underneath the covers and ran his fingers up and down his lover's arm, running soothing circles over the tense skin.

Dumbledore frowned. "Draco," he corrected. "I am sincerely sorry for what you were subject to this evening. I assure you I have taken the utmost precautions in strengthening the wards of the Wing. And as for Mr. Flint, he is awaiting punishment in my office as we speak."

"He is?" Draco asked, feeling shameful relief flood through him.

"Yes," Dumbledore confirmed, his eyes darkening in thinly veiled anger towards the unruly student.

Harry felt Draco relax underneath his fingers; felt the other's grip on his hand loosen.

"So you'll stay, then?" Harry asked softly, resisting the urge to murmur it into his hair.

Draco sighed huffily. "I suppose."

Dumbledore nodded approvingly. He turned to the nurses and said kindly, "Thank you all for your services this evening. I'm sure Madame Pomfrey can handle keeping an eye on him overnight, if you'd like to get home."

There was a flurry of, "thank you, Albus"'s, and then they were walking away, heading towards the nearest fireplace to floo back home.

Dumbledore then turned back to the two boys lying nearly intertwined on the hospital bed, and the twinkle returned to his eye– he had just caught Harry kissing the top of the other boy's head.

Harry pulled back, blushing a little, and murmured, "Thanks for all your help tonight, Professor."

"My pleasure," Dumbledore replied. "I just came by to see how you were, and to assure you that actions were taken. Now that I have done both..." He raised a hand and gave a small little wave. "Tah, boys."

"Night," Harry said.

He turned in a gust of robes and took his leave.

As soon as he was gone, Harry let go of Draco's hand so that he could wrap his arm around the other boy's shoulders.

Draco turned into him, surprised at the motion but pleased nonetheless. To be honest, he'd thought that all of the affection the other boy had been showing him these past few days had been due to his Gryffindor sense of duty and not due to...to any feelings he might have for him, but Harry hadn't been any less attentive in the past hour than he had in the days before it. Draco found that he was much more appreciative of it than he should've been.

"What're you thinking about?" Harry murmured, running his fingers down the other boy's back.

"How much I'd love to go to sleep," Draco lied, pressing himself closer to the other boy.

"Get some rest, then," Harry said, amused. "I'm not going to stop you."

"Yeah, okay," Draco whispered, eyelids already drooping; it seemed he was more exhausted than he'd thought. Harry was so warm and soft, and the hand on his back made his whole body tingle pleasantly. "Night, Harry."

Surprised at the use of his first name, Harry smiled, and pressed another kiss to his lover's head. "Goodnight, Draco."

Draco fell asleep within moments.

COMINGCLEAN

It was sometime during the night that Blaise snuck out of his bed, still a little bleary from sleeping and pain potions, but determined to get to his lover.

When he finally stumbled past the curtain to Seamus' bed, he nearly jumped at the sight of piercing eyes staring back at him.

"I'm sorry," they both said at once.

"It's okay," they again repeated.

Face splitting into a smile, Blaise nearly ran into his lover's bed in his hurry to wrap him in his arms. Seamus held him back just as tightly, and Blaise could feel the shakiness of his breath against his neck.

"I love you," Blaise whispered, suddenly taken by the urge to say it. "I really do."

Seamus went entirely still, and then his body shook anew. "I l-love you too," he said, so softly it was barely audible.

Blaise squeezed him tightly, then pulled back so he could kiss him lightly on the lips. "I know you're scared," he murmured, tucking his hair behind his ear. "But we're going to get through this, whatever happens."

Seamus nodded, eyes shining. He leaned his forehead against the other boy's, and for a long time, they simply sat together, reveling in one another.

COMINGCLEAN

"Draco, wake up! Wake up!"

Draco groaned, burying himself deeper into the comfort of Harry's chest.

"Draco, m'boy, please, we have a visitor for you."

_Dumbledore?_

He blearily opened his eyes and moaned, "What is it? I want to sleep."

"Sit up and look," Harry's voice came from above him.

Sighing, entirely irritated, he pressed himself forward until he was sitting up. After rubbing his eyes for a minute, his vision cleared and he saw Dumbledore to his right. "What is it now?" he asked, annoyed.

Dumbledore stepped to the side. "Remus?" he gestured.

Remus Lupin stepped out of the shadows, looking ragged and filthy.

Draco did not hear Harry's delighted shout of the man's name.

In fact, for a moment, he heard absolutely nothing. The breath left him in a rush, and time seemed to stop.

Held in the Remus's arms was a tiny body– grimy and beaten, but still moving with life.

Theo.

Draco's vision wavered, then went entirely black around him.

----------------

**AN:** Hope it was better than last time! Thanks for reading, and please review. Any feedback is appreciated.

Much love.

CSTSS


	14. Coming Clean

**AN:** Whew, this chapter came so easily! I wrote it within a couple of days, and I didn't expect for it to turn out this way but it did and I hope you all like it!

ONE THING I'D LIKE TO CLEAR UP-- Theo is NOT, NOT, NOT Theodore Nott. He's Draco's seven year old cousin-- an original character, not anyone from the books. Sorry for any confusion!

And lastly-- this story is NOT canon, and it is IGNORING SIRIUS' DEATH. He shows up in this chapter, and I don't want anyone to be confused about that!

I think that's all. Enjoy the chapter, my loves!

**Warnings:** cursing, small amount of violence

**Pairings:** Harry/Draco, Blaise/Seamus, mention of Remus/Sirius

**Disclaimer:** Not mine.

---------------------

"Malfoy, wake up."

"Mr.– Draco, come now, you just had a small shock. You're alright."

Draco groaned pitifully. His head was absolutely _pounding. _Had he fallen?

"It's alright; you hit your head on the back wall on your way down. It's probably a little tender."

That answered that question.

"Where...what..." He coughed, feeling like words were stuck in his throat. What the hell had happened?

"Draco, m'boy, open your eyes," said a voice somewhere to his left.

Blearily, Draco did as he was told. Figures and faces swam in his vision one by one; Harry, looking pale as death, Madame Pomfrey next to him; Dumbledore on his left, with Remus Lupin right beside him, holding–

Oh, Merlin.

Theo.

Draco took a gasping breath of air.

"Take it easy, now," Madame Pomfrey said concernedly.

"Is h-he– how is he?" Draco somehow managed, through the iron fist clenching around his heart.

Lupin looked at Draco, and his eyes were icy cold. "I'm hoping he'll be alright, after Poppy takes a look," he said stoically.

Draco felt himself begin to shake. It was a slow sort of tremble, starting from his fingertips and climbing up his body in hot waves. "How...when..."

"Here, let me take him now," Madame Pomfrey tutted in interruption, coming to join Remus on the other side of the bed. She briefly glanced to Draco. "Are you going to be alright for a moment?"

"Yes, yes," Draco blurted, breath coming in sharp spurts. "Help him. Help him now; do what you need to do. Don't worry about me."

Merlin, where was Harry? He'd gotten so used to a kind touch to his arm; a reassuring hand in his hair; gentle lips against his temple... and now there was absolutely nothing. He felt cold and desperately alone.

A brief glance to his side while Madame Pomfrey was taking Theo from Remus and he caught sight of Harry's stricken face; he was staring at Remus, desperately trying to catch his eye. His skin was sickly and ashen; his eyes were terrified.

It seems they'd been seen together by his dear Remus.

"Harry," Draco whispered, trying to get his attention. Merlin, even his lips were shaking. "Ha–

"Don't call me that, _Malfoy_," Harry suddenly spat, looking furious. His eyes frosted over as they leveled a glare upon Draco's innocent form.

Blinking, bewildered and affronted, Draco stuttered, "Harry, I d-don't–

"You heard him," Remus barked from his other side, the burden of Theo's weight gone from his figure.

Draco restrained his response as he realized the latter fact, and his eyes frantically searched the boy out, finding him after a moment in Madame Pomfrey's ginger hold. Theo was small for his age, but probably quite heavy for her; she seemed to realize this and gave Draco a nod before heading off to tend to him.

Relieved, Draco swivelled dead eyes to face Remus. "You saved him," he said, completely ignoring the man's last comment.

"From your father's clutches, yes, I did," Remus said lowly, eyes sparking in anger. It was an uncharacteristic expression on his normally kind face; it seemed the war had made even this good-natured man cynical and angry.

At the mention of his father, Draco's stomach plummeted, and his whole body spasmed. "I didn't have anything to do with that," he whispered hoarsely.

"Sure you–

"Remus," Dumbledore interrupted, gently but firmly. "I know this kind of... situation... upsets you, but please do not get angry with my student."

Remus then seemed to realize where he was, and what he was doing. He shook himself, cheeks reddening a little. "I apologize, Albus," he said sheepishly. "I don't know what came over me."

"It's alright, Remus," Dumbledore soothed. "You've had a long night."

Remus sighed and rubbed his hands over his face. "That I have," he murmured in agreement.

"Perhaps you'd like to stay in one of our guest rooms?" Dumbledore offered kindly. "You and Harry could go catch up for a bit."

Remus turned sharp eyes towards Harry, saw the fear reflecting back to him. "That would be nice," he slowly replied.

Dumbledore nodded, then turned back to Draco. "Draco, you look quite pale. Are you alright?"

"C-could I go see him?" Draco asked, teeth clacking.

"Who?" Dumbledore asked. "Oh! Young Theo, over there?"

Draco nodded shakily. "Please."

"I'll ask Poppy," the older wizard responded, reaching out to pat him on the shoulder. Draco flinched at the touch, inexplicably terrified, causing Dumbledore to immediately pull away. The older man gave him a soft look before wandering off to find Madame Pomfrey.

As soon as he was gone, Draco's eyes immediately went to Harry, pleading without his own permission to stop this act, to stop being such a coward, to just _be there _for him in that moment.

Harry did not look at him.

Feeling like a knife was twisting in his chest, Draco turned his eyes downwards, staring at his hands, twined together and trembling. _Goddamn you, Harry._

"Remus," Harry said, voice barely above a whisper. "What you saw, it wasn't...it wasn't what it looked like."

The knife twisted deeper. _What, Draco, you actually thought he meant it this time?_ _Thought he was going to stay by you?_

"We can talk about it later, Harry," Remus replied, sounding exhausted, and not to mention suspicious.

Harry nodded, physically forcing himself not to even _look _in Draco's direction, lest he see the heartbroken tilt to his lips; the minute tremble of his chest, lifting with shaking, rattling breaths. Just as his will nearly broke, Dumbledore appeared once again.

"He's stable, Mr. Malfoy. You may go see him."

Draco nodded, trying to calm his breathing. He swung his legs over the side of his bed, putting his back towards Harry. The Gryffindor winced at the way it heaved with every breath, and resisted the urge to smooth his fingers down it in comfort.

Draco stood with a lurch, fended off Dumbledore's helping hands with a glare, then stumbled off in the direction that Madame Pomfrey had gone.

When he made it to Theo's bed, and saw his frail body, still showing signs of the horrors he'd been subject to, Draco felt something break inside of him.

He's knees buckled underneath him, and he slumped to the floor beside the boy's bed, shaking horribly.

He was alive.

As horrible as it was, Draco felt sick with that knowledge. That night, his reasoning for not fighting as hard as he could to stop the initiation was that they were going to kill the boy regardless; if he'd fought, he would've been killed as well, making it two corpses instead of one. Cynical, disgusting reasoning– but it had been the way it was.

Now, things had changed. They _had _kept him alive, which meant they probably would have done the same even if Draco had refused the initiation and fought until they killed him.

That meant Theo gone through all of that for nothing; all because Draco had been too scared to fight harder for him.

He should have refused. He should have faced the consequences of doing so, instead of allowing his seven year old cousin to take the blunt of it.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered hoarsely. "Oh, Merlin, Theo, I'm sorry..."

He bent double, put his head in his hands, and wept.

COMINGCLEAN

"What's wrong, beauty?" Blaise asked, noticing the way Seamus suddenly tensed against him.

"D'you hear that?" the Irish boy asked, narrowing his eyes in concentration.

Blaise was silent for a moment, then shook his head. "No. What is it?"

"Someone's crying," Seamus replied, sounding concerned.

"Really?" Blaise paused again, straining his ears to hear it. After a moment, he heard the sound of soft, gasping sobs, coming from the vague direction of Draco's bed. "I do hear it," he murmured.

"Do you want to go check it out?" Seamus asked, twisting his head around to face his lover.

Blaise couldn't help tilting the other boy's chin up and pressing a quick kiss to his lips. He felt Seamus smile against his mouth, and opened his eyes to see the other boys' shining back at him. Pulling away reluctantly, he muttered, "Alright, alright. Let's go."

COMINGCLEAN

Harry, Remus, and Dumbledore had stood awkwardly for a few moments around Draco's empty bed, and then, just minutes later, they'd heard the sound of weeping.

Harry's heart had literally plummeted to his knees. He'd known immediately that it was Draco; he'd heard the other boy cry for ages during the operation, and he'd recognize the heart-breaking sound anywhere.

He'd had to fight the urge to sprint over to where Draco was– had to resist even going at all– for he'd already revealed enough to Remus, and knew that if he saw Draco crying, he wouldn't be able to keep himself from comforting him.

So it was only when Madame Pomfrey had hurried over and requested Harry come along that he was finally given the excuse to make his way over to the distressed Malfoy. She's said– fortunately under her breath– "I think he needs you, Harry. I have a bad feeling."

Harry had lifted his head and told the others, "I apologize, but Madame Pomfrey needs my help with that little boy. You all are welcome to come along if you wish."

Remus' eyes were alit with curiosity– as they had been ever since the noise had first reached their ears– and he'd nodded, then eagerly followed Harry to Theo's bed.

Now, faced with the scene in front of him, Harry realized that he'd underestimated just how much it would hurt to _see _Draco this way. Slumped against his cousin's bed with hospital robes literally swallowing his frail, gaunt body, with his head in his hands and his whole body trembling– he looked miserable and desperately alone.

Harry felt his heart throb painfully in his chest.

He took a step forward, needing to help the other boy, needing to do _something_, and then he remembered Remus, and abruptly stepped back. Merlin, he couldn't do it.

At that moment, something suddenly seem to shift in Draco.

His head lifted, and he stared down at his arm– the one with the Dark Mark. Harry could see it shaking violently where he held it in front of him.

There were a few moments of tense, foreboding silence. And then Draco's head fell back, his mouth dropped open, and out came a broken, nearly inhuman _wail._

Before anyone knew what was happening, Draco had grabbed an empty potion bottle from the cabinet beside him, smashed it against the ground– breaking off the end and leaving the jagged top– and thrust it into the mark.

"Draco!"

Harry was there first, skirting to the boy's side and fighting to get the homemade weapon away from him. There was no thought in the movement; no question– only Draco.

"My fault!" his lover shouted, eyes crazed. He fought violently against the hands attempting to hold him and the shards made purchase once again with the mark. He felt it slice open his skin and reveled in it; in the punishment he deserved. "All my fault, my fault..."

"Stop, Draco!" Harry yelled desperately, grabbing his lover's wrist and wrestling it away from his forearm. In the process, the busted potion bottle ripped several gashes in his fingers and palm, but he didn't care. He tightened his hold on the hand within his own and refused to let go.

Draco was stronger than his frail body implied, though, and he fought back, twisting and writhing in an effort to hurt himself again.

"Draco, baby, please," Harry pleaded, panting with exertion as he continued wrestling with his lover. "Please stop this. _Please._"

The automatically-spoken pet name and the pleading tone seemed to touch something deep inside Draco, because for one small moment, he went completely and utterly still.

Harry took that lucky second to snatch the bottle out of the boy's hand and throw it to the side.

Then the panic came bubbling up like hot lava in a volcano; Harry saw it coming and grabbed his lover by the face, gently pulling him forward and forcing him to meet his own eyes.

"It's alright," he whispered, barely audible. "Look at me, baby. Look at me. You're alright. Calm down."

Draco's eyes were wide, frightened– tortured, really. His lips shook as they parted to speak. "Why are you doing this, Harry?" he asked, voice ragged and broken. He lifted his bloody, shard-filled arm for Harry to see. "Can't you see what I am? Don't you know what I _did_?"

Harry ghosted his thumbs across his lover's cheek bones, not even noticing when one hand left bloody streaks across the porcelain skin. "I don't care, Draco," he said, holding the other boy's eyes in an intense stare. "None of it matters. You want to know why?"

Draco trembled underneath his fingertips. "Why?" he asked hoarsely.

Harry leaned forwards, caught Draco's lips in a chaste kiss. "Because I love you, you idiot, and I'm not going to let you tear yourself apart over something that wasn't your fault."

At his words, Draco's whole body went still. There were a few seconds of poignant silence.

Then his eyes welled, and he collapsed forward into Harry's chest, shaking anew. The sound of his sobs filled the room.

Harry exhaled, relieved that the violence was gone from his lover's demeanor, and slipped his arms around the other boy. "Shh," he murmured. He felt hot tears against his neck and heard the barely held gasps, quick and fast in his ear, and felt his heart clench. "It's alright, baby. Shh."

His fingers slipped up and found purchase on the back of Draco's neck, delving into the soft hair there and kneading gently. He rocked him back and forth, slowly, feeling the way the other boy clutched onto him and holding him back just as tightly.

"I l-love you too," Draco whispered hoarsely.

Harry felt warmth fill him, a wave of tenderness; he pulled the other boy still closer and pressed his face into his neck, inhaling his scent, kissing his skin.

Draco's fingers twisted tighter into Harry's shirt and shuddered hard. "D-don't leave me," he whispered, surprised at the words as they left his mouth.

"I won't," Harry promised, voice firm and impassioned. "You're stuck with me, now."

Draco shivered and turned his flushed, wet face so that his mouth was against Harry's jaw. "...thank Merlin for that," he murmured against the smooth skin.

Harry smiled softly and kissed Draco's temple. For a few minutes, they simply sat together, tightly entwined and trembling.

When Draco shifted and hissed in pain, Harry reluctantly said, "Why don't we get you back to your own bed to rest? You've had a lot of shocks today. You need to at least lie down for a while."

Draco merely nodded, even though the idea of leaving Harry's arms frightened him. It seemed Harry sensed this, though, because when he stood he brought Draco with him, fluidly bringing them both to their feet while keeping the other boy held securely to his chest.

And that's when Harry's focus shifted for just a moment as he realized what was in front of him.

Or rather, who.

There was a circle of people surrounding them. Blaise and Seamus, Ron and Hermione– _when the _hell _did they show up?_– Dumbledore, Remus, and Madame Pomfrey, and–

Sirius!?

Harry felt briefly faint.

"S-sirius," he whispered.

"Hullo, Harry," Sirius finally said, after a long silence. His eyes were guarded, but he didn't look angry– merely curious.

Harry's eyes, wide and frightened, turned towards Ron and Hermione. Ron looked absolutely floored– his eyes were huge and Harry thought he could see a faint tremble to his shoulders.

"R-Ron..."

There were too many people; too many accusing faces to try and appease, too many explanations he had to give–

"Harry," Draco murmured. "Harry, love, let's go now."

The surprisingly gentle voice in his ear grounded him, and he slowly relaxed. After a moment, he sighed shakily, then quietly announced, "I'm going to go help Draco to his bed. If any of you would like to speak to me, you can come along." He emphasized the word "speak", for he had a feeling his best friend wanted to do a lot worse than that.

His audience nodded, still looking shocked from the scene they'd just witnessed.

Harry turned, trying not to think about it, and supported Draco's weight as they headed back towards his bed, arm tight and secure around his lover's shoulders. Draco's fingers curled around his waist, and Harry took comfort in the warmth and feel of them against his skin.

Halfway there, Draco's knee abruptly buckled underneath him, still tender from the recent operation.

"Draco," Harry gasped, catching him round the waist and steadying him. He peered into his face, saw the exhaustion shining there plain as day. The boy was barely keeping his eyes open. Harry sighed and murmured soothingly, "Hang on to me, Draco. I'll carry you the rest of the way."

Draco tried to refuse, but Harry's arm was under his legs and before he could thing about it he was being swept up into a bridal-style embrace.

Embarrassed, but too bone-deep tired to question it, Draco pressed his face against Harry's chest and waited.

After a few moments, he felt himself being gently lowered down onto a familiar mattress, and was barely aware of the repositioning of his limbs and the tug of covers over his body. It was as if every bit of energy in him had been expended in the last few minutes; he couldn't even move.

"Alright, Draco?" Harry asked, voice concerned.

"Mm," Draco responded blearily. "Tired, s'all."

"Rest, then," Harry murmured. His fingers ghosted down Draco's cheek, a gentle comfort. "I'll be here when you wake up."

Draco nodded, reassured as always by Harry's customary promise. His eyes fluttered closed when hands began stroking his hair, and sleep came quicker than he'd anticipated.

Harry sighed and smoothed the covers across Draco's chest, relieved that the boy was calm and finally getting some rest. For a few moments he merely sat there, fingers stroking over smooth white skin, mesmerized by it– as he always had been.

It was only when someone cleared their throat that he jumped and realized the people around him.

He looked up to see Ron and Hermione sitting directly across from him; Remus and Sirius were standing up behind them. Dumbledore was no where to be found, and Blaise and Seamus must've headed back to their beds as well. Madame Pomfrey was whispering spells over Draco's forearm, fixing the bloody mess that was his Dark Mark.

"Show me your hand," she said tersely, once the gaping wounds on Draco's arm had been fixed.

Harry did as he was told, and watched as the cuts on his hands closed up under her spells. "Thanks, Madame Pomfrey," he murmured.

She gave one last flick that cleared up the remaining blood, then nodded and took her leave.

Sighing heavily, Harry prepared himself for a long, painful conversation with four of the people he was most close to in his life.

"Ask whatever you want," he said softly once Madame Pomfrey left, eyes on the sheets of Draco's hospital bed. He lifted the briefly to stare at Ron as he continued, "I promise it'll be the truth this time."

Ron nodded, looking quite serious.

There was a small moment of silence, and then Sirius began, eyes looking quite lost. "How did this even begin?"

Harry shrugged, a bit helplessly. "I don't really know. We just started... running into each other more than usual. And our fights gradually became...something else."

Sirius nodded, though he looked like he didn't understand in the slightest.

"Were you ever sleeping with him 'for information', as you claimed?" Hermione asked, eyes shrewd.

Harry bit his lip. "At first, I thought it might've been an added benefit. But he refused to say a word every time I broached the subject, so I gave that up. It stopped even being a thought in my mind."

Hermione nodded.

Ron hadn't spoken yet. Harry looked at him, eyes pleading. Finally, he slowly asked, "Where did you go that one time, when we thought you'd gone on a mission with Dumbledore?"

It was a random question, but at the same time more pointed than Harry wanted. He rolled the words around in his mouth before sighing and admitting, "I went to the Manor. To get Draco."

"You needed Professor _Dumbledore _to come with you to get this spoiled brat away from his mansion?" Ron snapped automatically, familiar anger rising.

"Don't call him that," Harry growled, eyes alighting with rage. "You have no idea what it's like for him there."

Ron looked startled. Sighing, he asked rather waspishly, "Okay, fine... why _did _you have to 'rescue him' then?"

Harry's eyes went to Draco, remembering blood and broken bones and howling whimpers that made his heart stop beating–

"Harry?" Hermione gently prompted, seeing his eyes glaze over.

Harry jumped, and turned back to them, looking stricken. "I-I'm sorry. I...h-he doesn't have it easy, Ron. Let's just say that."

"No, I want to know," Ron said stubbornly. "What does he have in his life that's so bad it requires Albus _Dumbledore_ and Harry _Potter _to–

"His father beats the shit out of him, okay!?" Harry finally yelled, temper snapping. "Lucius saw that picture in the paper and called him back there so he could practically kill him for it! He was under the Cruciatus for more than 10 minutes, he had more broken bones and bruises than I could _count, _and to top it all off he was forced after some horrific initiation that he can't even _speak _to me about to get the Dark Mark! So yeah, I'd say he has something to complain about!"

He stopped, breathing hard, feeling enraged.

"Harry, look," Hermione suddenly whispered, pointing to Draco.

Alarmed, Harry's eyes turned towards his lover, and winced as he saw Draco's face scrunched up in pain and fear, head moving quickly from side to side. All anger receded to be replaced by fervent concern.

"N-no more, Lu–Father," Draco moaned, chest heaving. "No more, I c-can't..."

"Draco, Draco," Harry murmured, laying one hand on the boy's chest and reaching the other up to touch his hair. "Shh, you're alright."

The blonde's muscles strained; his mouth parted in a breathy pant. "S-stop, aah, please..."

Harry's heart clenched. He leaned forward until his lips were against Draco's temple and whispered, "You're safe, Draco. It's just a dream, you've got to wake up."

Draco shuddered for a few moments longer, gave a gasping breath, and then his eyes shot open. "H-Harry," was the first trembling word to tumble out of his mouth.

"Right here," Harry said softly, pulling back a little so he could see his face. It was ashen white and frightened, but rapidly gaining color. "Everything's fine, baby," he reassured, touching the worried brow. "You're safe. Go back to sleep, now."

Draco shuddered a little, leaning into the touch, and closed his eyes once again. Harry stroked his forehead until his breathing evened out once again.

After a moment, Harry looked up to four shocked faces, staring down at their interaction with surprise in their eyes.

"I... apologize for yelling," Harry said, a bit sheepishly.

"It's okay, mate," Ron replied, looking sheepish himself. "I had no idea..."

"Not many people do," Harry said darkly. "He hides it well. Plus, everyone's so convinced he's fed with a silver spoon that they don't even think to question the bruises he has when he comes back from dear old Dad's."

Ron shook his head. "That's pretty sick, mate."

Hermione nodded beside him, eyes gentle. "It's awful. I never thought I'd say this, but... poor Draco."

Ron was obviously still quite shocked, because he didn't even acknowledge her use of his first name. "Yeah..." he murmured.

"It was... pretty horrific," Harry admitted, shaking his head. "I've never seen someone hurt that badly."

That was saying something, coming from him.

"So," Remus said, gently moving the conversation along. "Are you both planning on revealing your relationship?"

"Oh. Well," Harry chuckled, a bit wryly. "Everyone already knows. Some creep managed to get a picture of us in a rather...unfortunate position. It was on the front page of the Prophet."

Remus winced. "Wow..."

"Yes, but Mr. Potter here told us it was all for information," Hermione said, eyes rolling.

Harry blushed, embarrassed. "What can I say? I panicked. It was the wrong decision to make, and Draco ended up paying the price."

"So you're going to reveal the true nature of it, then?" Remus pressed.

"Yes," Harry said firmly. "Yes, that's what I plan to do."

"And are you planning on telling Ginny?" Ron asked, face grim.

Harry bowed his head and sighed. "_Everyone_ will know the truth once Draco gets out of here. I don't want to lie anymore."

"Good," Hermione said firmly. Then she yawned, largely and loudly.

"Tired, 'Mione?" Ron asked, snickering.

"It's been a long day," Hermione snappishly defended.

"You two can head to bed, if you'd like," Harry said, trying to disguise his eagerness. "Unless you have any more questions that need to be answered right now."

Ron sighed. "I don't think I'll ever run out of questions about this, Harry."

Harry looked down, swallowing thickly in shame.

"But..." Ron tentatively continued. "I can tell you...care, for him. And I'll try to accept this. I really will."

Hermione beamed at her boyfriend, then turned to Harry. "I'm going to accept it too, Harry," she said, voice warm. "I mean, I _am_ still angry that you lied, but I guess I can understand why you did it. In any case, I won't give up our friendship over it."

Harry nodded, relieved. "Good."

He waved at the two of them and watched them leave, then turned to Remus and Sirius, gulping as he faced them. They hadn't said much the entire time.

"Is this...okay?" he asked, voice hoarse. "I know you probably didn't expect it, and I know that it's Malfoy and everything, and I honestly don't know how it happened but I'm sorry if you're angry and–

"Harry," Sirius interrupted, looking vaguely amused. "Shut up and...watch."

With that, his godfather turned to Remus, tilted his chin up, and planted a kiss on his waiting lips.

Harry's mouth dropped open.

"_What_?" he asked, flabbergasted. "Y-you two..._what?_"

Sirius pulled back, chuckling. "We don't have a problem with you dating boys, Harry."

"I c-can see that," Harry stuttered, still stunned.

"What we do have a problem with," Remus said, blushing faintly. "Is you lying to your friends and family about it. You have to come clean, Harry."

"I'm going to," Harry said firmly, sobering. "No more lies."

"And," Sirius chimed in, face darkening. "While the idea of you dating Draco Malfoy makes me feel a bit sick to my stomach, I too will try to accept this. I'm beginning to think my impressions of him were quite wrong, anyway."

"They are," Harry reiterated, fingers gripping Draco's hand underneath the covers. "He's nothing like you think."

"A spoiled, selfish little brat?" Sirius filled in, unable to help his resentment.

"Well, he's still selfish. And he can be a bit of a brat," Harry said, smiling a little. "But he's a good person. And he's gone through a lot. And I..." He stopped, swallowing.

"Love him?" Remus filled in, eyes warming.

Harry sighed, and nodded. "I do. Very much."

Sirius exhaled, and said softly, "That's all that matters then, Harry. We'll still love you and be here for you, no matter what happens or who you choose to be with."

Harry smiled softly, deeply relieved. "Thanks, Sirius."

"Now, if you don't mind, we're gonna go get some rest," Remus said, and Harry noticed for the first time how deeply exhausted he looked.

"That's fine, Remus," Harry said, waving him off. "Go ahead. I'll talk to you in the morning."

"Have a good night," he replied. He paused for a moment. "Tell Draco, when he wakes, that I'm sorry I was so cold to him before."

Harry nodded warmly. "Will do."

He watched them leave, feeling better than he had in ages, especially when Sirius looked back at him and winked, face gentle and open.

Harry sighed, and turned back to Draco. "Things are looking up," he said softly, reaching out to pet his hair. "No more lying, Draco, I promise. I'm going to stick by you, now. And I'll make sure no one will ever hurt you again."

Draco bit his lip and turned towards his touch in sleep, face smoothing out when Harry's fingers ghosted over his skin.

After a moment, Harry climbed in beside him and gently pulled him against his chest. Draco's eyes blinked open for just a moment, so that he could curl himself fully around his lover, then closed once again.

"I love you, Harry," he whispered, voice drowsy and slurred.

"And I love you," Harry said, surprisingly comfortable with the words.

Draco pressed his face against Harry's chest, curled his fingers tighter around the Gryffindor's waist. "You won't change your mind in the morning...?"

Harry tightened his hold, and lifted a hand so he could tilt Draco's chin up. "I'm not changing my mind _ever_."

Draco smiled, then, for the first time in a long while. It looked like sunrise.

Harry kissed it, keeping his eyes open. Draco's grey eyes stared back at him. They were beautiful and open– naked, for only Harry to see.

Harry never wanted to look away.

THE END

----------------------

**AN:** There WILL be an epilogue, and most likely a sequel! Thanks for everyone's support throughout this entire process.

Sasu/Naru fans, get ready! I have some ideas already..muahaha.. xD

Much love to every reader and reviewer! Come back next time!

CSTSS


	15. Epilogue

**AN:** Welp, we're at the end of the road for this one, folks! This is the last installment of Coming Clean: the epilogue. It's short, yes, but it wraps things up and finally answers a few pertinent questions.

Most likely, this will NOT be the end of the Coming Clean universe-- just this particular story. I do plan on writing a sequel after I finish a Sasu/Naru fic I've got dancing around in my head. Or maybe I'll do both at the same time, who knows! Either way, I hope you all stick around to read whatever I write next, and I sincerely thank you for staying as long as you have.

Enjoy the epilogue!

**Warnings:** None, really.. kissing, that's bout it

**Pairings:** Harry/Draco, Blaise/Seamus

**Disclaimer:** Not mine

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_**One week later...**_

"You're sure you want to do this, Harry?" Draco asked, biting his lip as he looked over at his lover, whose face was, put simply– terrified. "We don't have to, you know. It's alright if–

"No," Harry said sharply, though his voice was shaking. "I want to, Draco."

Draco reached out a hand and stroked his lover's arm. Harry lifted a hand to place it on top of the other boy's, meeting his eyes in a strangely shy manner.

"I want to," he repeated, more firmly. "No more lies."

"Alright," Draco said gently, squeezing Harry's fingers.

They turned to Seamus and Blaise, who were standing closely together, murmuring quietly with one another.

"Seam, you guys ready?" Harry called out, idly slipping an arm around Draco's waist.

Seamus turned around, and Harry was shocked to see the blatant fear all over his face. "I c-can't do this, Harry," he whispered, chest rapidly rising and falling. "I c-cant, I just..."

Blaise laid gentle, discrete fingers on his lover's back, and murmured into his ear, "It's alright, beauty, you don't have to."

Seamus fought the urge to turn around and press himself into his lover's embrace, feeling as if everything was caving in around him.

"Hush," Blaise whispered, lips against Seamus' hair. "Calm down. No one's forcing you to do anything."

"Seamus, this is just something that _I _need to do," Harry said reassuringly. "You don't have to, if you're not ready."

"I'm n-not," Seamus said, almost immediately. His eyes flicked sideways to Blaise. "I'm sorry. I know– I know you wanted to, but–

"It's fine, Seam, honestly," Blaise soothed, fingers slipping just underneath Seamus' shirt to touch his overheated skin. "I know I said I wanted to stick it to my parents, but... it's probably not the best idea, anyway."

Seamus discretely leaned towards the strong fingers at his lower back, taking comfort in their warmth. "One day, Blaise, I promise," he whispered.

Blaise's lips found his temple. "I'd wait forever, beauty."

At those words, Seamus' entire body relaxed. He sighed heavily, and looked towards Harry and Draco, who stood strong and determined– together. "Good luck, you two," he said sincerely. "You're both...really brave."

"Thanks," Harry said.

"Thank you, Finnigan," Draco said politely.

Harry took a deep breath, then turned to Draco. "You ready?"

Draco bit his lip, then nodded. He reached out and intertwined their fingers, squeezing softly when he felt the tremor from his lover's end.

"Let's go, then," Harry murmured, smiling gently at him.

Blaise and Seamus went ahead of them and opened the doors to the Great Hall, revealing a sea of faces and robes– the whole school, in the process of eating a special holiday dinner.

Harry and Draco stepped forward at the same time.

Harry glanced over at the other boy. His eyes were bright, and shining.

Draco returned the look, silver eyes smoldering under long lashes. Their gaze sparked with intensity.

And then their feet were moving; they entered the Hall, hands entwined, heads held high.

There were gasps; a few yells and whistles.

Then Harry stopped, pulling Draco to a halt next to him, and held up his hand, calling for silence.

The whole Hall went quiet.

Harry's eyes flicked to Colin Creevey, who was sitting at the Gyffindor table, gawking at them both.

What the small boy didn't realize, was that Harry knew he was the one who'd taken the infamous picture so many weeks before. It turned out, there had been a small mirror in the back of the shot– showing Creevey's reflection as he'd hidden behind the dresser and snapped their picture.

Harry winked at Colin, then announced, "Hey, Creevey, I've got another picture for you."

He turned towards a stunned-looking Draco, and reached out to touch the side of his face. Draco's eyes met his– trusting and open, as Harry so loved them to be. Harry ran his fingers down his lover's cheek, stopping just at his pointed chin, tilting it upwards so those beautifully pink lips were closer to his own.

"I love you," they opened to whisper breathily.

"I love you too," Harry murmured, before, without further ado, leaning down and claiming that mouth in a passionate, heady kiss.

The Hall did not erupt in applause, nor in heckling. It stayed dead quiet, the only sound being the click of the camera as it once again captured the electric love between two boys, two lovers– Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy.

Harry slipped his arms around Draco's waist, and pulled him flush against his chest. Draco broke the kiss, and tucked his head underneath his lover's chin.

Together, they rocked back and forth; two boys in love, ready to take on whatever the world threw at them.

COMINGCLEAN

The next day, the headline of the Daily Prophet had the picture splattered on it's front page, with the headline bright and bold, reading:

_Harry Potter Comes Clean About True Nature of Relationship with Draco Malfoy._

Indeed, Harry had come clean. And, wrapped up with Draco reading the article, he couldn't help thinking–

–that things hadn't turned out half bad.

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**AN: **Hope you enjoyed the story, and thanks again for all of your support!

Much love; come back next time!

CSTSS


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